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CHICAGO: 

MORRILL, HIGGINS & CO., PUBLISHERS. 

Idylwild Series. Vol. I, No. 19, Aug. 23, 1892. Issued Weekly. Annual Subscription, $26.00. 
Entered in the Postoffice at Chicago as second-class matter. 










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“you can confess better in the landau than in the middle of the street.” 

Page 197. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER 


From tmTFrench 

f OF 

ANDRE THEURIET. 


BY 

W. H. SCUDDER. 





MORRILL, HIGGINS & CO 

1892 . 



COPYRIGHT. 


Morrill, Higgins & Co. 
1892. 


This edition by permission of Laird & Lee. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


i. 

Since morning — a brilliant morning intlie 
early part of August, 1885 — Saint-Cyr les 
Tours presented symptoms of an unusual anima- 
tion. It was the wedding day of Mile. Nancy, 
the daughter of M. Evariste Bambert, the 
proprietor of Bochettes, and Baoul de Laine, 
the young auditor of the council of State. 
The marriage ceremony had just taken place 
in the church, whose slender, needle-shaped 
tower still vibrated with the chimes rung in 
honor of the occasion. On the road leading 
from the place of the Parvisse to the gate of 
Bochettes could be heard in the distance the 
stamping of horses and the rumbling of car- 
riages. 

Saint-Cyr, built upon the crest of a ridge 
and separated from Tours by the Loire, has in 

7 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


respect of situation and physiognomy, a strong 
resemblance to Passy. Composed only of 
country houses, arranged in terraces, which 
coyer the slope, this pretty village, whose 
streets are lined by the park walls, seems 
ordinarily to be sleeping in verdure. On this 
day the trades-people and servants of the 
neighborhood stood before the doors in groups 
to watch the passage of the carriages. Some 
of the curious, more familiar with the place, 
sprang over the grilled gate, and turning 
into the wide carriage way which had been 
freshly sprinkled with sand, gathered about 
the quarters of the domestics of Pochettes and 
watched the arrival of the marriage guests, 
who were received under an awning over the 
perron. The bridesmaids had followed the 
bride and her mother into the interior of the 
house, but the greater part of the guests 
were scattered about the garden, where they 
lounged and chatted while waiting the an- 
nouncement of breakfast, which was to be 
served under a tent erected opposite the 
orangery. Among the clumps of red liorten- 
sias, in the shadow of the magnolias, could be 


MADELEINE EPARVIEB. 


9 


seen the bright toilets of the women, mingled 
with the dark costumes of the men. Grouped 
at a distance, under the awning of a servant’s 
stairway, the stewards and maids profited by a 
moment of respite to chat with the coachmen, 
and to ridicule, as is the custom among the 
valets of good houses, the foibles and short- 
comings of their masters, as they appeared 
in view from time to time at the turn of a 
walk. 

The gossip was at its height, when one of 
the maids noticed a stranger, who, with a hes- 
itating tread and an inquiring look, was direct- 
ing his steps toward the basement staircase. 
It was a young man of some twenty-four 
years, of medium height, dark complexion and 
well built. His features were expressive but 
irregular ; square chin ; high cheek bones ; 
keen black eyes, deeply sunken in their orbits ; 
black hair growing thick over an intelligent 
brow. Though properly clad in a gray suit, 
his sunburned tint, his young untrimmed 
beard, the rough and hard appearance of his 
hands, gave him the air of a workman in his 
Sunday clothes. 


10 


MADELEINE EPARVIER, 


“ Where does he come from ? ” murmured 
the maid. 

Nevertheless, the bright, wide-awake look 
of the newcomer prepossessed the young 
woman in his favor, for she deigned to turn 
toward him and with a softened tone she asked: 

“Well, young man, what can we do for 
you?” 

“I beg pardon,” answered the newcomer, 
raising lightly his felt hat. “ I brought Mile. 
Eparvier to her uncle’s, M. La Jugie. I re- 
turn to La Varenne this evening and I came 
to know if Mile. Madeleine has any word for 
her mother.” 

“Ah! you are Mme. Eparvier’s coachman? ” 
The young man blushed and answered, visibly 
mortified: 

“ No. My father is the under-farmer of 
La Varenne, but I am not employed by Mme. 
Eparvier. As I work near here at the pottery 
of Portillon, I undertook to bring Mile. Epar- 
vier to her uncle’s. Her mother preferred to 
send her in my charge rather than with a 
hired coachman.” 

“ Mile, Eparvier,” replied the soubrette, 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


11 


“is with the bride and you cannot see her at 
this moment. When she comes down to 
breakfast I will try to let her know that you 
are here. What is your name? ” 

“ Martial M6tivier.” 

“Well, Monsieur Martial, wait here and 
amuse yourself watching the guests, and when 
they are at breakfast, you know, if you wish 
to eat a bit with us, you needn’t be bash- 
ful.” 

“ Thanks,” he murmured, blushing anew, 
“ I need nothing.” 

In spite of the eagerness with which Mar- 
tial had denied that he belonged to the service 
of La Varenne, the statement he made as to 
his real rank and calling did not appear to 
impress the maid. Between a farmer’s son 
and the servant of a good house there was no 
appreciable difference. She continued to treat 
him as an equal, as a comrade before whom 
she had no need to hold her tongue. 

“The widow Eparvier did not then accom- 
pany her daughter?” 

“They are in the midst of harvest at La 
Varenne. Mme. Eparvier would not leave 


12 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


lier house for anything in the world at such a 
time.” 

“Indeed! She prefers to let her daughter 
go off alone rather than lose a sheaf of wheat. 
She appears to be as stingy as her brother, La 
Jugie. I know him,” she continued, address- 
ing herself more particularly to a group of 
servants. “ He comes here to dine every 
week and on New Year’s day, and he thinks 
he is very generous when he distributes a 
hundred sous amongst us. Look at him yon- 
der, just about to finish his speech. He is 
waving his arms like the fans of a windmill 
and his mouth is stretched wide open. You 
know words cost nothing. He is a giver of 
holy water who finds it easier to spit out a 
discourse than a twenty-franc piece.” 

With a contemptuous wink she pointed to 
a gentleman of middle age, dressed in black of 
an old-fashioned style, and wearing a white 
tie, carefully knotted under a turn-down collar. 
He was tall, heavily-built and might have been 
fifty-five years of age. His hat pushed back 
showed a forehead prominent and knobby, 
small blue eyes, a moustache, still blond in 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


13 


color, the large month of the wordy advocate 
and high-colored cheeks, which gave him a 
ridiculously juvenile look. He stood gesticu- 
lating by the side of a man nearly as old as 
himself, but whose dress of elegant cut set off 
a slender form, a dignified face tinged with 
melancholy, lighted by handsome eyes shining 
beneath thick brows which had remained 
black. 

“ He is with his friend, Armand Debierne,” 
pursued the sprightly maid. “How he must 
be bored, the poor gentleman. Now, M. De- 
bierne is a man agreeable to look upon, though 
he is turning fifty. He is no skinflint and it 
is a pleasure to serve him.” 

“Hold!” interrupted a coachman. “See 
Mine, des Yoclines, my mistress. Tell me, is 
not that young fellow who is paying her 
so much attention a close relation of M. 
Debierne?” 

“It is his ward, M. Pierre Lamblin. He 
has come from Paris expressly to act as best 
man to the groom. He is a fine looking fel- 
low but will never be the man his guardian is. 
He has too good an opinion of himself and 


14 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


would like to trample on the world. They say 
that M. Debierne is laying the wires to marry 
him to Mile. Eparvier. You would never 
think so from the way the young man hangs 
around your mistress.” 

This allusion to the rumor of a possible 
marriage between M. Debierne’ s ward and Mile. 
Eparvier had the effect of awakening the in- 
terest of Martial. His irregular features 
expressed a violent surprise and all his atten- 
tion became concentrated on the couple whom 
the soubrette had made the object of her com- 
ments. 

Pierre Lamblin in spite of his elegance and 
his intelligent face, did not please at first view. 
Tall and slender, well built, he had a pallid 
complexion, a curled moustache and a pointed 
beard. In his long, caressing blue eyes, in the 
corners of his mouth, curled by an ironical 
smile, in his trick of letting fall his monocle, 
which for a moment he had screwed into his 
eye, there could be divined a pretension to I 
know not what weariness — as of disenchant- 
ment; but he added to it a correctness of ges- 
ture and of attitude, a dash of foppishness in 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


15 


the eye, which made one distrust his sincerity. 
When one has been sincerely disabused in his 
estimate of life his disappointment is not so 
well ordered, he manifests it with more aban- 
don and less self-satisfaction. It requires a 
close examination to recognize whether this 
expression of disenchantment is not well 
feigned, prepared in advance, cunningly pa- 
raded. For the moment this precocious, disil- 
lusioned youth of twenty-six years had forgot- 
ten his role and the misanthrope gave way to 
the fop and was flirting, heedless of what the 
world would say, with Mme. Yoclines, who 
appeared as much at home in this atmosphere 
of gallantry as a fish in water. 

Mme. Clairette des Yoclines — thirty-eight 
years old, fair, attractive and plump — had 
arrived at the full flower of her ripe beauty ; 
her gown of mauve silk cut in the pompadour 
style, fitted perfectly her supple figure, and set 
off the graceful contours of her ample bust. 
AYith langorous eyes, mouth wreathed in a 
sensuous smile, and bust thrown lightly back, 
she was pretending to dispute with her neigh- 
bor for the possession of a rose. So languidly 


16 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. • 


did she defend herself that Pierre Lamblin 
soon seized the flower and with it, the hand 
which held it. “Say,” whispered a steward, 
“they don’t seem to find waiting, so very tire- 
some.” 

“It is disgusting,” replied the maid. “If 
we were to permit ourselves the quarter of 
what they do publicly, we should soon be 
turned out of doors.” 

“Dame!” ejaculated the other, “her hus- 
band does not stand in the way, since they are 
separated.” 

“Why does she not marry then? That 
would be better than having lovers. Why does 
she not get a divorce?” 

“Because of her religious scruples,” 
gravely responded Mme. des Yoclines’ coach- 
man. “In our set it is bad form to be 
divorced.” 

“Oh! they prefer lovers.” 

“If she does not re-marry herself, she 
makes matches for others. It appears that it 
is she who has caused Mile. Bambert to marry 
M de Laird” 

“Let us hope that this marriage will turn 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


17 ' 


out better than her own. Little de Lair6 is 
nice.” 

“Fresh, white and red and smells good — a 
real sugar plum— you could eat him,” said 
the second chambermaid. 

“Oh! for the matter of that, he will be 
eaten” retorted the first. “He will see some 
stormy times if he does not know how to 
defend himself.” 

“Do you think that Mam’selle Nancy 
?” 

“A chippy, my dear. She will lead her 
husband by the nose as she has led good- 
natured Rambert. She has nothing in her 
head and nothing in her heart. She talks to 
her servants as if they were dogs, and she 
paints like a cocotte.” 

“And dyes too — at nineteen years?” 

“Does she dye? Well I should say so— 
lips, eyes and hair. She is a veritable paint- 
ing! I ought to know something about it, I 
who have charge of her chamber and 
toilet.” 

“And her parents say nothing?” 

“Her parents! They see themselves in 
2 


18 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


their children as in a glass. They are their 
dupes. The daughter plays her mother like a 
top. As to the boy, a collegian of seventeen 
years, he is always tagging after the women, 
and he has nothing further to learn in that 
direction, I assure you.” 

“See the bride” cried the first steward. 
“They are sitting down at table. And now 
my children to work. You are not here to be 
amused.” 

In fact, Mme. de Lair6 had just appeared 
upon the perron, thin, white and frail looking, 
in her satin gown, but having already the 
aplomb and graceful carriage of a woman. 
Her maid had not calumniated her, she did 
paint. Her eyes were elongated by pencilling 
and her lips were very red. In marked con- 
trast, her mother, Mme. Sidonie Eambert, 
wore a costume of forget-me-not blue, too light 
for her age. With her blond hair curled in 
infantile fashion, and her corsage a la vierge , 
the good lady gave herself youthful airs. One 
would have said that she sought to pass for a 
sister of the bride. The groom Eaoul de 
Jjaire hurried toward his wife and mother-in* 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


19 


law, curled, spruce and coquettish as a fairy- 
prince, lie bowed before them and kissed 
their hands gallantly. The scattered groups 
rolled back toward the perron. Each one 
betook himself quickly to the young couple 
and under the awning 'arose the murmur of 
congratulations. 

The gaze of Martial M&tivier shot over and 
beyond the group formed about the married 
couple, and fixed itself complaisantly upon a 
young girl who had just appeared in the back- 
ground, and whose discreet attitude, as well 
as her severely simple toilette, contrasted with 
the factitious beauty of the bride. This young 
girl had a slender, though well formed figure 
and there was something about her which 
recalled the chaste grace of the virgins of 
Perugino. It could not be said that she was 
regularly beautiful ; her nostrils were slightly 
inflated, the base of the face w T as too round, 
and the forehead too prominent, but her 
beautiful brown eyes, of the limpidity of a 
spring, her magnificent chestnut hair, twisted 
in a single coil, and especially a rare expres- 
sion of dignity and frankness, embellished this 


20 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


young face and graved it deeply in the memory 
of the beholder. 

“There is Mile. Eparvier, murmured the 
chambermaid. “I will try to speak to her. 
Patience, and wait.” 

The group of servants suddenly dispersed. 
The coachmen went away to look after their 
horses; the stewards had regained the tent 
erected for the breakfast. Martial suddenly 
found himself alone and he was not sorry for 
it. He experienced a vague relief in feeling 
himself rid of their malevolent company. His 
amour-propre had suffered from contact with 
these servant folk, whose coarse jibes had 
soiled their masters with ignoble stains. Nev- 
ertheless his timidity soon shrank from this 
too complete solitude. It now seemed that the 
guests were looking at him, and that those on 
the perron were asking each other who this 
stranger was, so unceremoniously introduced 
into a house whose host he did not know and 
where he had no business. 

Indeed, this pretended need of taking back 
to Mme Eparvier a message from the daugh- 
ter, was only a pretext, invented by Martial to 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


21 


enable him to effect an entrance into the Ram- 
bert house. He had been impelled solely by 
the desire to see Madeleine in her toilet of 
bridesmaid. 

The son of the under farmer of La Yarenne 
worshipped Mile. Eparvier. This fervent cult 
dated from a remote period, when, younger 
than he by four years, Madeleine had come to 
the pasture to find him in order that he might 
play with her. He saw with astonishment this 
little creature, with her long lashes, her large 
clear eyes and her floating hair. He made for 
her little cages of reeds in which to confine 
grasshoppers; he told her the names of the 
birds and insects which flew about them. He 
owed to her the taste which he had acquired 
for plants and the insect world. Later, when, 
after leaving school, he had become an appren- 
tice in the pottery of Portillon, it was a gala 
day for him to see the child each Sunday at 
La Yarenne and pass the pleasant afternoons 
at her side. She would relate to him the 
stories she had read in her books, and he 
would listen in blissful content. Even as in 
certain paintings of the primitive school, the 


22 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


donor is represented as devoutly kneeling at 
the feet of the madonna, to whom he offers his 
ex voto , so Martial remained in ecstacy before 
Madeleine. To amuse her he modeled in clay 
simple figures and these awkward essays gave 
him his first artistic joys. To remain in a 
communion of spirit with her he followed 
arduously the courses of the school of drawing 
and passed his evenings in study at the library 
of the village. During his entire apprentice- 
ship his efforts had been sustained and his 
sorrows alleviated by her encouragement. 
Little by little, from a simple apprentice, 
he had become an important workman in 
the manufacture of faience and was now em- 
ployed in the capacity of designer. His age 
and the exigencies of social life rendered his 
relations with Mile. Eparvier less frequent 
and more ceremonious. He no longer came 
so regularly to La Varenne; he only saw 
Madeleine at long intervals, but from afar he 
remained the mute admirer of the young girl, 
and it was always a red letter-day when he 
chanced to meet her. 

So, now that he was almost a “Monsieur” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


23 


lie was in no wise offended at the rude direct- 
ness with which Mme. Eparvier had charged 
him to drive her daughter to Saint- Cyr. 
Coming from any one else than the mother of 
Madeleine this proposal would have cut him 
to the quick; but he joyfully accepted this 
unhoped for opportunity to be for one hour by 
the side of her for whom he felt so chivalrous 
a devotion. Along the levee, where the waters 
of the Loire were reddened by the slanting 
rays of the setting sun; along the ascent of 
the road, bordered with high walls, above 
which the trees of the riverside parks inter- 
locked their dense, foliage-crowned branches, 
they had passed an hour in talking familiarly 
of the olden times. She asked him questions 
about his work; he told her of his projects 
and inquired in his turn about her solitary 
life at La Varenne. 

This hour of familiar talk had slipped 
away so pleasantly that on the morrow, seized 
with a desire to renew these fugitive delights, 
he had made a pretext to gain access to the 
garden of the Eamberts in order to get a 
glimpse of Madeleine Eparvier. 


24 


MADELEINE EPARVIEB. 


But one does not dream the same dream 
twice. Either the maid had forgotten her 
promise or Mile. Eparvier was too busy. She 
did not appear to suspect the presence of her 
companion of the day before. 

While Martial was waiting in his corner a 
steward advanced toward the bride and an- 
nounced that the breakfast was ready. Imme- 
diately the gentlemen gave their arms to the 
ladies and, according to the ceremonial, the 
procession disappeared in the tent. At an 
angle of the house Martial found himself be- 
tween a clump of orange trees on the one side 
and lemon trees on the other, and his isolation 
increased his sense of uncomfortableness. He 
skirted the garden and concealing himself 
behind the clumps of shrubbery, he gained lit- 
tle by little the terraces which overlooked the 
valley of the Loire. Hardly had he reached 
this refuge than he began to be tormented by 
new scruples. He reflected that he had con- 
cealed himself like a thief. He suddenly 
retraced his steps, ran along the shady arch of 
yoke elms and soon found himself not far from 
the tent* from which came a hum of conversa- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


25 


tion like the buzzing of a hive of bees. One 
of the curtains had been raised to give the 
guests more air, and through the arch of the 
hedge-row he caught a glimpse of the long 
table. The bright dresses of the ladies alter- 
nated with the dark costumes of the gentlemen; 
baskets of flowers were placed at intervals on 
the white cloth, and about all the waiters were 
quietly moving. Bursts of laughter mingled 
with the clattering of dishes and the popping 
of champagne corks rose in a confused mur- 
mur. 

Martial could not see Madeleine Eparvier, 
but he could make out the elegant and ironical 
profile of Pierre Lamblin — that ward of M. 
Debierne, whom he had heard spoken of as a 
possible husband for Mile. Eparvier. He now 
suddenly remembered that during the ride 
from La Yarenne to Saint-Cyr, the latter had 
talked about a young lawyer who was expected 
that evening at M. Debierne’ s. He recalled 
that Madeleine appeared to be interested in 
thisjyoung man, whom she had formerly met 
during one of his vacations, at her uncle La 
Jugie’s, and now by comparing these details 


26 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


with the gossip of the soubrette, he had just 
heard, he felt something very like a sentiment 
of jealousy stir in his bosom. He felt most 
bitterly the differences in education and rank 
which separated him from the society in which 
Mile. Eparvier lived and a mad desire to over- 
leap those social barriers surged through his 
brain — not that he had a snobbish admiration 
for this bourgeois world, whose foibles had 
been just now, so mercilessly and maliciously, 
shown up, by the servants of Rochelles, but 
because Madeleine belonged to it, and because 
he wished to move in the same atmosphere 
with her and occupy a place so high that she 
would not need to blush for him. 

At the same time by a sudden return to 
sober reason, he reflected that perhaps Mile. 
Eparvier might not feel flattered to see him 
prowling around the tent like some pariah, or 
impolite intruder. The idea of losing in the 
esteem of Madeleine, or of furnishing an 
object of laughter for the disdainful, mocking 
young lawyer, made him ashamed of his espion- 
age. Plunging anew into the shadows, he re- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


27 


gained the principal road, and passing through 
the gate of Rochettes, he returned to his studio 
with hanging head, thoroughly disgusted with 
himself and others. 


28 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


II. 

Under the tent the wedding breakfast went 
gaily forward. There were about forty guests 
around the table — relatives, near or remote, 
friends of the two families, young men and 
bridesmaids. In the center having for neigh- 
bors M. Armand Debierne and M. Prosper de 
La Jugie, Mme. Sidonie Rambert assumed 
poses more or less emotional, while contempla- 
ting the young married couple who had been 
placed between M. Evariste Rambert and 
Mme. de Laire’s mother on the one side and on 
the other Mme. des Yoclines and the ward of 
M. Debierne, Pierre Lamblin. On account of 
the length of the table and the large number 
of guests, conversation could not be general. 
Groups of two or three chatted gaily and 
occasionally phrases could be heard outlined 
as it were against a background composed of 
an indistinct hum of voices. These phrases 
resembled in their bizarre freedom from all 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


29 


conventionality, those words thawed out from 
the frozen mass which Pantagruel heard “in 
the open sea.” 

“Well,” said M. Debierne to Mme. Ram- 
bert, “Your daughter is nicely established — 
you are happy?” 

“Happy?” replied the lady with a languid 
sigh. “Can a mother be happy when she sees 
herself separated from a cherished daughter? 
They will start for the Pyrenees this evening 
though I have tried to keep them with me a 
little longer, but my son-in-law has insisted 
upon taking his wife away, and I ought to give 
an example of submission. But at least I have 
the satisfaction of knowing that I have ac- 
quitted myself of my duties as a mother to the 
last. My daughter has never left my side; I, 
alone, have directed her education and I have 
made her what she is; I give a pure and 
beautiful soul to M. de Laire. Look at them! 
Are they not nice? And how happy they 
seem.” 

“Too much so!” replied M. Armand De- 
bierne, shaking his head. They seem to take 
their happiness too much as a perfectly natural 


30 


MADELEINE EPAHVIER. 


thing, and which is due them. The young 
people of to-day enter life with an assurance 
which we in our time did not possess. For 
my part, old bachelor as I am, I have never 
been present at a wedding without a feeling of 
melancholy.” 

“Not so with me,” protested Prosper de La 
J ugie, swelling his voice to a deep lyric note ; 
“ the sight of a young couple delights me like 
the cooing of doves. Love is but an episode 
in life, but how sweet it is ! It radiates its in- 
fluence all around; it is the blessed star of the 
heavens! ” 

“Indeed!” cooed Mme. Rambert in turn. 
“ You look like a poet, La Jugie. And speak- 
ing of poets, you know we count on you for 
the toast to the young people.” 

“ Dear madame, I will try to find a few 
words worthy of you and the occasion.” 

“Think over it, my friend, the moment 
approaches.” 

Prosper de La Jugie did think it over and 
he thought much. He would make it a point 
of honor to deliver a discourse to the young 
people full of imagery and not all common- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


31 


place. This preoccupation distracted him and 
hindered him from eating. From time to 
time he drew a pencil from his pocket and 
feverishly jotted a few lines on the reverse 
of a menu. 

“And while yon are at it,” whispered Mme. 
Rambert, “put in a few kind words for Marcel, 
who will be very lonely after his sis- 
ter’s departure. It will console him, poor 
child!” 

Marcel was a collegian of seventeen years, 
brother of the bride. Placed at one of the 
ends of the table, between two bridesmaids, he 
seemed to be consoling himself in advance in a 
most agreeable manner. Sipping his cham- 
pagne, he was ogling his fair neighbors, 
touching their bare arms under some pretext 
of examining a bracelet and grazing their 
shoulders like a purring cat, all of which 
familiarities irritated exceedingly Mile. Epar- 
vier, who was seated at his left. She drew 
her chair back, and with a look of contemptu- 
ous disdain, tried to call the too enterprising 
youth to order, but the ninny took no heed,' 
and with one hand caressing his budding mous- 


32 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


tache, with the other he continued to stroke 
the sleeve of the young girl. 

“Papa,” said Nancy de Lair6 to M. Ram- 
bert, “do look at your son. The champagne 
seems already to have gone to his head and he 
is becoming annoying. Is not that boy suffi- 
ciently ftn-de-siecle? Make him stop — he 
will disgust Mile. Eparvier.” 

“ Bah ! ” responded the father, staring fondly 
at his heir, “on a wedding day one can take a 
little liberty. Ah,” he continued, winking at 
Mme. de Laire, “ he is a gay dog and under- 
stands all the games — games of wit and games 
of love. Do you know, madame, that he makes 
very fair verses ? What he writes is not 
always clear, but it appears to be of the latest 
school. The less we understand of it, the 
more poetic it is.” 

“ So your husband takes you away this 
evening?” asked Mme. des Yoclines, bending 
down and speaking to the bride. 

“Yes, we shall be at Luchon to-morrow. 
Raoul at first wanted to put off our departure, 
out of respect to mamma, but I have intimated 
to him that we would better cut short our 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


33 


adieux. I have had enough of sentiment. I 
said to Raoul, ‘ let us go for an excursion and 
let our parents console each other. I have 
taken the advice of De Musset: 

‘No more tears, no more vain repinings.’” 

“You have read De Musset then, dear 
child?” interrupted the lady maliciously. 

“You are right! Mamma has 'permitted 
me to read poetry, though sometimes pinning 
together certain pages which I was not to 
open. Naturally, I read them first.” 

“Exactly; there are no young girls now,” 
murmured Mme. des Yoclines behind her fan. 
Then turning toward her neighbor, Pierre 
Lamblin — 

“What would you have, madame? Our 
century is too old. As Bourget says, ‘ we 
have maidenhood without innocence — it is 
one of the tours de force of our civilization.’ 
But if we no longer have young girls we have 
young women, and one can renew his youth- 
in paying them homage. I drink to your 
beautiful eyes, madame!” 

He whispered these soft gallantries with a 
3 


34 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


caressing light in liis eyes and a mocking curl 
at the corner of his mouth. 

Mme. des Yoclines heard him with com- 
plaisance, though the motion of her fan be- 
came somewhat quicker. 

“Do you think of staying long in Tou- 
raine?” she asked, glancing at him tenderly, 
between her half closed lids. 

“I promised my guardian to stay some 
months. I should like to dabble a little in 
politics. Not that I belong to any particular 
party. I am a skeptic in the matter of elec- 
tions and I absolutely despise universal suf- 
frage. But in our disenchanted epoch, politics 
is still a game which gives us the intensest 
emotions — after love — always — ” he added 
gallantly “when one is so fortunate as to meet 
with it.” 

“At your age,” said Mme. des Yoclines 
simpering “these encounters are not rare. 
But if you stop here I hope that politics 
will not completely absorb you, and that you 
will come to see me at L’Orfrasi&re. You will 
find some friends whose local influence will 
not be useless to you.” 


MADELEINE EPARVIEB. 


3£ 


“I should like better to find no one there 
but you,” replied Lamblin with a bold look. 

While they were thus bandying gallantries 
in a low tone, a valet brought in on a tray, a 
number of telegrams containing felicitations 
addressed to the wedded pair. Mme. Rambert 
touched the arm of Prosper de La Jugie with 
her elbow, to warn him that the hour for the 
toast had arrived. The good man shook his 
head violently without budging. The sight of 
the complimentary telegrams had just inspired 
him with a more flowery exordium, but as this 
new inspiration upset the order of oration 
already outlined, he felt the necessity of re- 
writing it at once. At the moment when all 
eyes were impatiently turned toward him, he 
rose hastily, and pencil in hand, ran to the 
orangery in order to modify his improvisation. 

The disappointed guests supposing the 
orator seized with sudden sickness, smiled 
discreetly, and in despair began to rattle their 
knives on their dessert plates; but the waiting 
for this toast so long before announced, cast a 
a chill upon the company. Mme. Rambert 
with frowning brows glanced upon the vacant 


36 


MADELEINE EPARVIER* 


chair of Prosper and drummed with nervous 
fingers upon her fan. 

Pierre Lamblin, entirely occupied with his 
fair neighbor, had seen nothing of this inci- 
dent, but Mine, des Yoclines, more observant 
divined the embarrassment of Mme. Rambert, 
and had compassion on her. At the moment 
when Pierre took anew his glass to drink “to 
her beautiful eyes,” the young woman laid her 
hand upon his arm. 

“You would do better,” she said smiling, 
“to drink to the happiness of the married 
couple ; that will serve as a preparatory exercise 
for your electoral reunions, and would flatter 
Mme. Rambert enormously.” 

“You wish it, that is enough” replied Lam- 
blin. 

He rose, glass in hand, with the air of a 
man ready to speak. Immediately Mme. 
Rambert brightened and breathed more freely ; 
a murmur of satisfaction ran around the table 
and a silvery tinkle imposed silence upon those 
talking. 

“Ladies, gentlemen!” began Pierre with a 
smile on his disdainful lips, and with a slight 


MADELEINE EPARVIEIl. 


37 


swaying motion of the body, “If truth is found 
in wine, eloquence is not found there in equal 
proportion. The good things we have eaten 
do not incite to long discourses. I will there- 
fore be brief. I drink to the young couple 
who will soon leave us, and who in their newly 
found bliss will not see the tears of their 
parents and of their friends assembled around 
this table. I drink to those who remain and I 
wish for those who depart a happy journey 
gilded with the poetry of love.” There was a 
clapping of hands ; ladies put handkerchiefs to 
their eyes and glasses clinked noisily. At this 
moment La Jugie returned, paper in hand, 
and understood at a glance what had taken 
place. He looked savagely at the presump- 
tuous young man who had forestalled his ora- 
torical effort and silently vowed revenge — 
one of those provincial revenges which are 
never forgotten. Nevertheless he was not 
willing to lose this discourse upon which he 
had expended so much time and labor, and 
rising to his feet and striking his glass with 
his knife, to command attention, he began in a 
tremulous but sonorous voice. 


38 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“Dear children, from every quarter of 
France, like the far off sounds of a bell, come 
these azure-hued telegrams bringing new feli- 
citations .” 

But the auditory remained insensible to the 
comparison of the “far off sound of a bell,” on 
which Prosper had erected his entire exordium. 
The sources of attention and enthusiasm were 
dried up. The major part of his phrases was 
lost in the buzzing of the private conversa- 
tions. M. de La Jugie went on imperturbably, 
but was his own sole auditor. He read on 
without stopping and concluded his toast by 
wishing to the young married couple a garland 
of beautiful children, having the blond hair of 
their father and the grace of their mother.” 

This peroration was received with feeble 
applause. He sat down, sorely vexed. 

“A garland of brats, thanks,” whispered 
Nancy in the ear of her husband. “ I hope 
that the old bore will be paid for his wishes. 
I haven’t any great predilection for children, 
Raoul, I assure you.” 

When Pierre Lamblin sat down after his 
speech he observed a young girl who was look- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


39 


ing at him with great fixity of attention. Ad- 
justing his monocle, he recognized Mile. 
Eparvier, with whom, five years before, he had 
formed an acquaintance while passing a vaca- 
tion with his guardian. He found her im- 
proved, with a distinguished air and with 
something particularly original in her look. 
When he rose to take his coffee in the orangery, 
Madeleine, on the arm of her escort, passed - 
near Lamblin, and in brushing by him, saluted 
him with a glance in which there was some- 
thing of sadness and disappointment. As she 
moved away Pierre heard two guests talking 
about this very Mile. Eparvier. 

“A pretty girl and one who will never be 
an old maid. There will be another wedding 
one of these days! ” 

“You think so?” 

“ Parbleau! Uncle La Jugie, who is a mil- 
lionaire, will nofc let her dry up on the stem 
for the want of plucking. When she marries 
she will have three hundred thousand francs 
at the lowest figure, and I assure you that 
lovers will not be wanting.” 

This rapid dialogue, caught on the wing, 


40 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


made Pierre prick up his ears. Though he 
posed as one of the disenchanted ones, he was 
ambitious and a shrewd hand at a calculation. 
His early experience with Parisian life had 
long ago convinced him that the full hand is 
the strongest, both for defense and offense. 
Among the combinations which he had imag- 
ined in view of the future, a fortunate marriage 
took first rank. The prospect that the fortune 
of Uncle La Jugie would descend to Madeleine 
Eparvier, gave her all at once, a serious im- 
portance — placed her in bold relief, as it were. 
He now remembered more clearly the half 
grown girl with whom he used to play. As he 
had not re-visited Saint-Cyr during his studies 
in the law school, he had completely forgotten 
her in the interval. Now he tried to evoke 
those ancient memories. He recalled a thin 
girl, all arms and legs, and was astonished to 
find her now grown so beautiful, and he re- 
proached himself for having neglected to renew 
his acquaintanceship with her. 

“After all,” he thought, “I have lost no 
time; though my inconsiderate flirtation with 
Mme. des Yoclines may not be of a nature to 






MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


41 


win for me the good graces of this young girl, 
yet I may repair all by the aid of a little pru- 
dence.” 

As soon as lie had conducted his coquettish 
neighbor to the orangery he left her with the 
bride and discreetly went aside to sip liis cof- 
fee. He was recompensed for this sacrifice, 
for a few minutes later, just as he was placing 
his empty cup on the buffet, he saw JMlle. 
Eparvier coming toward him holding in her 
hands a sugar bowl and a pot of smoking 
coffee. 

“Will you take some coffee, monsieur?” 
she asked timidly. 

“ Thanks, Mademoiselle Madeleine, I have 
just finished a cup. I regret it, but I wish 
to profit by the occasion to excuse myself for 
not having saluted my old friend this morn- 
ing.” 

“You recognized me, then?” 

“ Only just now, when you left the table. 
Pardon me, but I am very near-sighted.” 

“ You are pardoned, monsieur.” 

Madeleine’s voice had become clearer and 
the light in her limpid brown eyes told how 


42 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


mucli pleasure this frank avowal of Pierre’s 
had given her. 

“ I shall make up for it,” added the latter, 
“by not leaving Pochettes without renewing 
our acquaintance.” 

“And I, too! ” she replied, at the same time 
giving him a frank and smiling look, and then 
left him. 

“ She is certainly pretty,” said Pierre to 
himself, as he strolled away to smoke a cigar 
in the garden. 

They had sat at table very late and the 
breakfast, like all wedding feasts in the 
provinces, had dragged to a great length. 
When, after having smoked, the men returned 
to the parlor, some of the guests had already 
taken leave, but the most of the young folks 
had staid to witness the departure of the bri- 
dal pair. In order to shorten these hours, 
always so tiresome at the end of nuptial cere- 
monies, Mme. Sidonie Rambert sat down at 
the piano and a dance was organized. 

Pierre, who had not lost sight of Mile. 
Eparvier, went to her and begged her for a 
waltz. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


43 


“I should be pleased,” she answered, “but 
I warn you, I am very awkward. I never go 
to balls and you will have a very indifferent 
partner.” 

“Let us try, all the same.” They made 
several turns of the room. Madeleine waltzed 
by instinct, she followed the rhythm by a sort 
of intuition, but as she had confessed, she was 
not accustomed to dancing. Suddenly she felt 
herself turn dizzy and leaning upon the arm of 
her partner, she asked to stop. 

Pierre led her to one of the glass doors 
opening on the garden, and there they rested 
a moment silent. Before them rose the clumps 
of shrubbery beginning to grow black in the 
twilight, while the crescent moon appeared 
over their tops in a greenish-blue sky. 

“Do you feel better?” asked Pierre Lam- 
blin with an air of tender solicitude. 

“Oh, yes, pardon! I told you I was a poor 
waltzer. Think, since I left boarding school I 
have not danced three times in three years. 
Our home is so far from the city, my mother 
dislikes company, and I live like a savage at 
LaVarenne.” 


44 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“But you often come to your uncle’s?” 

“Not so often as formerly. Mamma is a 
very stay-at-home body and now that I am a 
young lady she does not let me go out alone. 

I have only made short visits to Saint-Cyr, 
since the time we met during your vacations. 
You were then the chief in all our games. 
Nancy Rambert and I used to admire your 
talent in getting up charades.” 

“What! you still remember that?” 

“Indeed, I do! We used to call you ‘the 
poet’ and we predicted that you would become 
a celebrated author like Balzac.” 

“You were deceived, unfortunately. I have 
become a prosaic lawyer. Ah ! how time flies 
and how quickly life molds us to its liking 
and not to ours. Do you think me much 
changed? ” 

“They told me you were, but I imagine it 
was an exaggeration, and that you are calum- 
niating yourself.” 

“At all events I have faithfully cherished 
the refreshing memories of the hours you have 
just evoked from the past.” 

“For my part it seems like yesterday and I 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


45 


am glad to see that you have not entirely for- 
gotten us.” 

They were interrupted by Prosper de La 
Jugie who came to seek his niece. Madeleine 
took leave of her partner, holding out her 
hand to him in parting. 

At night when uncle Prosper had gone to 
bed and the young girl had retired to her 
chamber, from whose windows could be seen 
the vague outline of the Loire and the lights 
of Tours, she felt in her heart a confused joy, 
and she found an indefinite pleasure, in recall- 
ing that fugitive conversation on the perron of 
Pochettes, while the piano was playing the 
waltz of the “roses,” and the slencjer crescent 
moon was smiling in the pale sky. 


46 


MADELEINE EPABVIEK. 


III. 

Armand Debierne was a neighbor of the 
Ramberts and of Prosper de La Jugie. The 
events of 1870 — 1871 had disgusted him with 
Parisian life. The humiliation of defeat, the 
radical transformations brought about in social 
relations by the war and the Commune and 
other deceptions had thrown him into a pro- 
found melancholy. Though he had but just 
attained his thirty-sixth year in 1871, nothing 
which formerly attracted him had now anj 
further charm for him. The social world, in 
the process of re-forming, the new Paris, par- 
liamentary politics, nothing, appealed to him. 
Seized with a moral lassitude and an imperious 
need of repose he had returned to his native 
province — Touraine. At first he intended 
only to pass a few months with his old friend, 
La Jugie, but during his stay with Prosper, he 
had visited a neighboring estate which was for 
sale. The calm of this abode, sleeping under 


MADELEINE EPAKVIEB. 


47 


its large trees, won him. He bouglit La 
Fleurance, had been established there since 
1872, and had never since quitted it. This 
property of La Fleurance was calculated to 
please a romantic, disappointed man like 
Armand. The house, built of tufa, white, 
finished soberly in the style in vogue at the 
end of the eighteenth century, was nearly con- 
cealed by trees and flowers. On all sides the 
horizon w T as shut in by masses of verdure 
except at the summit of a hill, where between 
two plane trees the other shore of the Loire 
could be made out, with its spires and houses 
ranged in terraces, which, in the distance, and 
seen in the oblique rays of the setting sun, 
gave to Tours the look of an Italian city. 

This peaceful home, possessing the repose- 
ful charm of a Tourainian landscape, intensi- 
fied in Armand Debierne, his persistent mel- 
ancholy. Since his arrival at La Fleurance 
thirteen years had flown, and the ashes of 
these thirteen years, drifting softly upon him, 
had deadened the sting of his wounds. 
Though his soul had remained sad his char- 
acter was not soured. If he had lost the bloom 


48 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


of liis early illusions he had preserved their 
roots alive. Passion in him was dead, but he 
had retained a cult for the generous ideas and 
enthusiasm of the past. Morally as well as 
physically, he remained the gentleman he had 
always been. His dress was as well cared for 
as in the time when he attended the salons of 
the Second Empire, except that, faithful to the 
fashion of his youth, he always wore a frock 
coat, buttoned to the chin, a full flowing beard 
and hair parted in the middle and curled 
lightly on each side of the brow. This style, 
elegant though superannuated, was as a witness 
of the epoch when the book of his dreams had 
“just been printed” — the epoch, now far in 
the past, when he had loved and suffered. It 
harmonized with his grizzled hair, his sad 
benevolent smile, his half closed eyes in which 
slept a regret for the things of the past. It 
only needed a look to divine that this man 
carried a secret grief in his heart. 

Armand Debierne had had, in fact, a ro- 
mance in his life, a chivalrous romance and 
one melancholy as his own mood. At the age 
of eighteen he had experienced a platonic 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


49 


affection for the daughter of one of his neigh- 
bors in the country, and that delightful period 
of springtime love, which bloomed like an 
apple tree in full flower, had cast a spell of 
enchantment over the years of his youth. An 
orphan at twenty, he had left his province to 
enter the bureau of foreign affairs, but he had 
carried with him all his dreams and illusions 
of love. Four years were passed in an ap- 
prenticeship to his Parisian life and then one 
fine evening, in the parlors of his chief, the 
passion of his eighteenth year, the beautiful 
Sabine de Yabre, suddenly appeared before 
him, more attractive even than he had known 
her, back there in Touraine and he tried to 
renew the idyl of love. Unfortunately, like 
the Charlotte of Wertlier, Sabine was already 
betrothed to a M. Lamblin, director of political 
affairs. Importuned by her family she had 
accepted this brilliant match, one indeed which 
might well have flattered the vanity of the 
young girl. She avowed all this to Armand 
Debierne at the same time letting him see that 
he had come a little too late, and two months 
afterward the wedding took place. Greatly 


50 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


shocked and grieved at first, Arm and sought 
a cure for his wounded heart in travel. But 
the image of the faithless one followed him 
everywhere, and wearied at last, he returned to 
frequent the houses where he would be likely 
to meet her, preferring rather to suffer in her 
presence than not to see her at all. They 
belonged to the same set, so it was easy for 
him to gain access to the society of Sabine 
Lamblin. The young woman held him in 
great esteem and received him like a friend, 
and, perhaps inspired by a coquettish tender- 
ness, she tried charitably to heal the wound 
she had made. On his part the chimerical 
Armand imagined he might deceive his passion 
by enjoying the honest friendship which was 
offered him. But there are remedies worse 
than the malady itself. Little by little he 
saw that this innocent intimacy was only fan- 
ning the flame which was burning him. Mme. 
Lamblin was, above all things, a worldling, she 
received a great deal, loved pleasure, went to 
all the official receptions and dragged Armand 
into that whirlpool where she was admired and 
feted, As a witness of these triumphs of the 


MADELEINE EPABVIEK. 


51 


handsome society woman, Armand was more 
dazzled than the husband. Jealousy inflamed 
his passion; he had not the skill to conceal it, 
and Sabine Lamblin, whose nature was calm 
and well balanced, and who was more disposed 
to be admired than to conceive a passion for 
an adorer, was compelled to repress her com- 
promising friend. Then ensued quarrels and 
menaces of banishment followed by mortifying 
acts of contrition and humble promises to act 
more wisely in the future, and then Debierne 
began to suffer in silence in the presence of 
her who was never to be his. 

As the years rolled on, his chivalrous re- 
spect for woman, which formed the background 
of Armand’ s nature, got the better of his pas- 
sion. He resigned himself to be for Sabine 
simply her most devoted and faithful friend 
and was recompensed by an increase of her 
confidence and esteem. His condition of cav- 
alier - servant, heroically accepted by him, 
was not, on the whole, entirely without a sort 
of bitter sweetness. Sabine gave him credit 
for the nobleness of his character and consulted 
him on all important matters. M. Lamblin, 


52 


MADELEINE EPAKVIER. 


who was much occupied in his ambitious pro- 
jects, had no time to devote to his son, a boy 
of bright intelligence and who closely resem- 
bled his mother physically. It was Debierne 
who took special charge of the child’s educa- 
tion and it was with him that Sabine held 
long conversations regarding the future of 
this only son. At times Armand felt that he 
was nearer the heart of this young woman 
than was her husband, and this consoled him 
for the sacrifice of his passion. In the early 
part of 1870 this cozy intimacy between the 
three was rudely broken. M. Lamblin, whose 
situation in the government was menaced by 
the incoming Olivier ministry, was so overcome 
by chagrin that he fell victim to an infectious 
fever, to which he succumbed in a few weeks. 
Five months later, at the moment when Sabine, 
overwhelmed by the death of her husband and 
the financial disasters which followed as con- 
sequences of it, began to breathe again under 
her widow’s weeds; at the moment when De- 
bierne began, with a fluttering ' heart, to see 
the possibility of marrying her whom he had 
always loved, war was declared; the news of 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


53 


our defeats burst one after another like dread- 
ful peals of thunder ; the empire crumbled and 
Mme. Lamblin fled with her son from Paris, 
already three-quarters invested. 

Although his heart was broken, Armand 
Debierne resolved to remain in the beleaguered 
city and to perform his duty to the full. 
Anxious and tormented by fears, he passed five 
months without news from Sabine. The first 
letter received by him, after the capitulation, 
dealt him a blow more painful than all the 
others. During the terrible winter of 1870, 
Mme. Lamblin, a refugee in the neighborhood of 
Loches, had contracted a dangerous affec- 
tion of the lungs. She felt that she was 
dying and called her friend to her side. Ar- 
mand repaired to Loches at once and found 
Sabine terrified by the sudden approach of 
death. She had just time and strength to 
commend her son, Pierre, to his care, and on 
the morrow she died in his arms. Over- 
whelmed by this destruction of his last hopes, 
Debierne returned to Paris a prey to the deep- 
est melancholy. He brought with him the 
child, who was henceforth to be his ward, and 


54 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


the lad of eleven years re-inspired him with a 
desire to live. He resolved to make a man of 
him and to lavish upon Sabine’s son all the 
tenderness he had felt for the mother. 

It was then that he went to live at Saint- 
Cyr, after placing Pierre at the lycenm of 
Louis Le-Grand. Every year young Lamblin 
came to pass six weeks at La Eleurance and 
Armand felt an almost paternal joy in noting 
the rapid physical and intellectual development 
of Sabine’s boy. The lad resembled his 
mother extraordinarily ; he had her calm spirit 
and winning manner; like her, too, he had 
self-esteem and liked to be admired. When 
at times Debierne examined him furtively he 
thought lie saw the spirit of Sabine herself in 
the blue eyes of the young man, as one can see 
a loved face appear at the back of a mirror, 
and he felt in his heart an increased affection 
for this living heritage of the dead. 

Pierre, to do him credit, did honor to the 
solicitude of his guardian. At the lyceum he 
was regarded as one of the most gifted and 
was oftenest crowned with honors at the great 
debates. After having passed his degree of 


MADELEINE EPAKVIEB. 


55 


letters, he began his law studies and once 
embarked on the stream of Parisian life had 
paid very rare and brief visits to La Fleurance, 
but Armand had letters from him. These, and 
occasionally the newspapers kept him advised 
of his ward’s successes. The young man was 
president of his society and had already 
achieved some notoriety as an orator in the 
debates among the re-unions of the left bank 
of the Seine. 

Some weeks before the Rambert wedding 
he had read a thesis with great success and in 
announcing this triumph fco Debierne, he had 
notified him of his coming visit to Saint-Cyr, 
where he was to act as best man for his friend 
Raoul de Laire. 

The morning after the marriage of Nancy 
Rambert, Armand was sitting in his study, 
whose windows opened on the garden. He 
was thinking of the years which had passed 
since the death of Sabine, and was congratu- 
lating himself upon the happy prospects of his 
ward. Doctor of laws at twenty-six, possessor 
of a modest fortune, though sufficient to assure 
his independence, Pierre had before him a 


& 


56 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


career full of promise, whether he snoulci 
devote his life to the bar, as he seemed dis- 
posed to do, or whether he should enter a par- 
liamentary career. “Let us hope,” said De- 
bierne to himself, “that he will be able to make 
these bright promises bear fruit. I hope he 
will not imitate his guardian and spoil his life 
as I have done.” These reflections took Ar- 
mand back to the period of his youth, to the 
time when he also had seen the future open 
before his eyes, like a garden with perspective 
vistas gilded by the sun. Slowly he passed 
backward over the pathway of his life to the 
day when he had quitted the paternal roof to 
undertake his first journey to Paris. Even the 
rustle of the wind among the trees, and certain 
other familiar out-of-door sounds on this morn- 
ing recalled to him his sensations of that other 
morning so long ago. The ringing of a distant 
church bell, the doves cooing in a neighboring 
dove-cote, and nearer the splash of a fountain 
in its reservoir, the conversation of the ser- 
vants in the court below, all gave him the 
hallucination of the home life he used to 
lead at Brignons, that peaceful Tourain- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


57 


ian home where he had passed his child- 
hood. 

Soothed by these friendly sounds of country 
life, he saw again clearly the picturesque de- 
tails of the old home : The facade of the porch 
garlanded with aristolochus ; the darkened 
parlor with its furniture in faded Utrecht 
velvet ; the library where the stuffed birds rose 
stiff and dust-covered at each angle. He 
climbed again the stone stairway leading to his 
study-room, whose fire-place in Aleppo marble 
was split obliquely and where the veins of the 
marble seemed to represent fantastic land- 
scapes. He leaned his elbows, in thought, 
upon the window sill, in whose white stone he 
had notched his knife in carving the name — 
Sabine. He wandered again through the gar- 
den so fresh and cool, so deserted, where the 
clumps of raspberry bushes were so thick and 
well grown that one could play at Robinson 
Crusoe, lost on his island, and make amusing 
discoveries at every step. How often he had 
come there to think about Sabine, at the hour 
when the moon was rising, and the only sound 
to break the stillness was the shrill and melam 


58 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


choly cry of the frogs under the rotten beams 
of a rustic bridge. What sighs of love he had 
breathed there; what beautiful and glorious 
projects of work he had there formed, while 
the moon mounted in the clear sky of Tou- 
raine, and from the base of the terraces the 
Indre flowed with a murmur soft and low as 
the caress of a woman. 

Les Brignons had been sold and trans- 
formed, and now there remained nothing of its 
old time charm. Alas ! of the fine dreams of 
glory and of love indulged in under the old 
raspberry bushes, there remained almost noth- 
ing. Of love Armand had tasted only a poor 
imitation, sterile desires and hopes forever 
disappointed. The work he had projected had 
remained only as unfinished plans and sketch- 
es. Sabine had absorbed to her own profit all 
the virile forces which Debierne had promised 
to utilize in the creation of admirable works. 
This love for a woman who was never to be 
his had acted like a stupefying drug upon his 
intellectual activity. He had seen the glory 
of which he had dreamed shine on more fortu- 
nate brows ; comrades who had set out at the 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


59 


same time as he for the conquest of the golden 
fleece, had become influential politicians or 
applauded writers. He alone had passed an 
eternity in his dreamy obscurity and was now 
arriving at his fiftieth year with nothing to 
show for it, except a little azure powder left 
upon the ends of his fingers by the chimerical 
butterflies which had escaped his grasp. 

“At last,” he thought, gazing at the shadows 
of the trees outlined on the closely-shaven 
lawn. “ I, at least, have the satisfaction of hav- 
ing accomplished a pious duty. I have edu- 
cated Pierre and he has not disappointed my 
expectations. If the soul of Sabine can return 
to earth she ought to be happy to see her child 
become a man, and a man of worth.” 

At the moment when Debierne was think- 
ing of his ward the latter had finished dressing 
and was making his way toward the study of 
his guardian. He entered the large room, lit- 
tered with books, smiling and irreproachable. 

“ Good morning, Pierre, good morning, my 
child!” cried Debierne, extending his hands 
to the young man. “ I sent for you to come 
to my room that we might have a quiet talk 


60 


MADELEINE EPAEVIER. 


before breakfast. I have had, I must confess, 
some scruples about disturbing you so early 
after so fatiguing a day as yesterday. Did 
you have a good time at the wedding?” 

“ Oil! yes, my dear sir, and I am not at all 
tired. I have only the most agreeable impres- 
sions of it.” 

“ So much the better! These impressions 
will assist you the better to bear the dryness 
of our conversation, for I warn you Tve are 
going to talk business and figures. At your 
age that sort of thing is not very enlivening. 
Sit down. Will you have a cigar?” 

“ Thanks, I have with me all I shall need.” 
He took from his pocket a Japanese case, 
opened it, drew from it a Russian cigarette, 
lighted it, and placing his elbows on the table 
opposite Debierne: 

“Now,” said he, “I am all ears.” 

“My friend,” began Armand, “when you 
became of age I made a statement to you of your 
accounts, but that was a pure formality, seeing 
that I have managed your patrimony up to the 
present time. Now that you have finished 
your studies in the law school, and are about 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


61 


to enter upon the battles of life, it is but just 
that you should have full charge of your for- 
tune. You know pretty nearly the figure, do 
you not ? ” 

6 ‘ Yes, I know that I have five thousand 
pounds in government bonds and then our 
lands and the house of Joubardi&re.” 

“ That makes in all about eight thousand 
francs of revenue. Formerly, for a bachelor 
living in the provinces, that would have been 
a golden mediocrity, but with the exigencies 
of actual life, it is at the most a modest com- 
petence.” 

“I have already thought of that, but might 
I not augment my income by a more judicious 
employment of capital? Thus for instance, 
could we not sell the bonds and buy foreign 
stocks which cost less and pay better? The 
same with Joubardi&re; by putting it up at 
auction it will bring at the least a hundred 
thousand francs, and with this sum I might 
buy Italian and Hungarian sureties which 
bring in double the revenue.” 

“You reason like a notary,” cried Armand, 
surprised. At the same time he thought, “The 


62 


MADELEINE EPAKVIER. 


devil, what if I, at his age, had been as well 
posted as he is in matters of the Bourse!” 

‘Am I not right?” asked Pierre, with the 
dry tone of a man of the world. 

“In the practical view certainly: — But your 
mother was very fond of Joubardi&re; she was 
brought up there; she died there and she 
reposes in the village cemetery. Does it not 
seem hard to you to sell at auction, to the 
highest bidder, the home in whose every nook 
and corner the dear woman has left some mem- 
ory of herself?” 

“Necessity makes law,” replied the young 
man coldly. 

“No doubt, no doubt — well this is a deli- 
cate question on which it gives me pain to in- 
sist. As to an exchange of your bonds against 
foreign securities do you think that at the 
present time such a speculation would be quite 
patriotic ?” 

“Oh! oh!” exclaimed Pierre, while a malign 
smile curved his lips, “in business, as in poli- 
tics, there is no room for sentimental con- 
siderations. We are more practical than that 
to-day.” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


63 


“I see,” murmured Armand with a sigh. 

“We have emerged from the quixotism, and 
the chimeras of 1848. We do not mingle sen- 
timent with science, nor with philosophy nor, 
above all, with money matters.” 

“But, sacre-bleu! what will you do with 
sentiment ? For it exists and is as much a fact 
as the laws of gravity. Where will you put it 
then?” 

“In love, my dear guardian,” replied Pierre 
laughing. Then in a more serious tone he 
added: “You see no objection to my trans- 
forming my capital in the way I have just 
indicated?” 

“You are the master,” responded Debierne, 
“only, after the operation of which you have 
spoken, your fortune will not permit you to 
remain idle. What do you think of doing?” 
He spoke nervously, like a man shocked and 
disappointed. This expression of displeasure 
did not escape Pierre’s notice and resuming 
his cajoling manner, he said in his caressing 
voice : 

“My dear guardian, I see that I have irri- 
tated you. I should be sorry to cause the 


64 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


least displeasure to the devoted friend to whom 
I am beholden for so many good offices. As 
to Joubardi&re, be reassured, I have no inten- 
tions of selling it — ” 

“Very good,” interrupted Debierne, “ 

Just now, at least” finished the young man. 
“You asked me what I intended to do. Well! 
I should like to present myself before the gen- 
eral council in the canton in which I am a pro- 
prietor. There will be a chair to be disposed 
of at the end of the year. My family was for- 
merly favorably known in the arrondissement 
and I am told that I shall have a chance of 
being elected. What do you think of it?” 

“It is a laudable ambition. Though young, 
I think you possess the necessary qualities for 
a public career. Only I should think it might 
be necessary first to take a stronger root in 
the country. You are almost unknown to the 
electors. Ah! if you were married and settled 
in Touraine your chances would be at once 
doubled.” 

“I have already thought of that. And on 
this point I would like to ask you for a little 
information. I saw at the wedding yesterday 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


65 


an old friend of my childhood — Mile. Epar- 
vier.” 

“Madeleine! A true, young girl that, sim- 
ple, enthusiastic, serious and charming.” 

“She is very attractive indeed. You know 
her family?” 

“Perfectly — Mme. Eparvier lost her hus- 
band ten years ago. She is a manager and 
has brought up her daughter severely, patri- 
archally and not at all in the style of to-day. 
Her fortune, modest but substantial, consists 
principally in the domain of La Varenne, 
which her mother has made valuable, yielding 
a revenue the half of which is not expended. 
Moreover Madeleine has an uncle, my old 
friend, La Jugie, who adores his niece, and 
who, if she marries to his liking, will certainly 
dower her handsomely.” 

“ Then, in your opinion, Mile. Epaiwier 
would be a very eligible match? ” 

“Very honorable and very desirable — but 
a moment, my boy! I warn you that if you 
see in her only ‘an eligible match’ I shall not 
lend a hand to this sort of speculation. Mad- 
eleine is pretty enough to be married for her- 
5 


66 


MADELEINE EPARYIER. 


self. I should like to believe that you do not 
proscribe the sentiment of marriage as you 
proscribe that of politics.” 

“ Have I not said, on the contrary, that I 
admitted it only in love?” answered Pierre. 
He had reflected that the only way to make 
headway with his chivalrous guardian was to 
bestride the same hobby. Besides, he made 
it a principle, that when you go to people’s 
houses you must bring away their prejudices 
with you. So he continued in his most per- 
suasive voice: 

“In my opinion, dear sir, love in marriage 
is the best of speculations. Mile. Madeleine 
pleases me and I feel that I would not need to 
see her often to be seriously in love with her.” 

This adroit confidence touched the heart of 
Armand Debierne in the right spot. He re- 
mained a moment, thoughtful, entirely absorbed 
by a dream which he had already for a long time 
secretly cherished. He was one of the fervent 
admirers of Mile. Eparvier. Every time he saw 
her he felt a tenderer interest for the charming 
naturalness and grace of the young girl. 
Every time he quitted her he could not help 


MADELEINE EPAEVIEB. 


6? 


thinking that she would be an exquisite wife for 
the husband she might choose — and involun- 
tarily he wished that the happy choice might be 
Pierre Lamblin. To unite this adorable girl 
to his adopted child, to the son of the woman 
whom he had so faithfully cherished; to give 
to two persons of his choice that happiness 
which he had so vainly pursued on his own 
account — this would be, he thought, in his 
ripe age, a satisfaction which would console 
him for all the sorrows of his youth. After 
seeing this hoped for marriage celebrated he 
could sing like Simeon: 

4 * Nunc dimittis servum tuum .” 

The idea of the possible realization of this 
project so long dreamed of enchanted him. 
The avowal which had just escaped from Pierre 
seemed already a commencement of its execu- 
tion; his imagination became heated and his 
own enthusiasm intoxicated him to such an 
extent that he deceived himself as to the true 
state of his ward’s heart. He believed that he 
had mounted to the same ideal heights as him- 
self, and striking him gently on the shoulder: 


68 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“Well, my boy, you shall see Madeleine 
soon at Prosper’ s. Since slie pleases yon, try 
to make her love you and yon will make me 
the happiest of men.” 


MADELEINE EPABVIER. 


69 


IV. 

Immediately after tlieir breakfast Armand 
Debierne and Pierre Lamblin rang at the door 
of M. de La Jugie. The two estates were sep- 
arated only by the width of the road. That of 
Prosper sloped more toward the valley of the 
Choisille, which it overlooked, and had a less 
modern appearance. The dwelling house, cov- 
ered with moss-grown tiles, was built and fur- 
nished in the modern style ; the garden, laid out 
a la francaise , abounded in bright flowers, and 
the park, badly kept, presented in places the 
look of a virgin forest. Though Uncle Prosper 
spoke much of the ideal he did not mean to 
sacrifice the useful to the agreeable ; he had at 
great pains preserved the ancestral vineyard, 
which covered all the slope of the Choisille 
and yielded a pleasant wine of raspberry like 
flavor. In short, the domain of the Hermit- 
age, half rustic, Half bourgeois, with its neg- 
lected spots, its cornfields, its well-stocked or- 


70 


MADELEINE EPARVTER. 


cliarcls and its vines, was calculated to gladden 
the eye of all true Tourainian farmers. 

Prosper de La Jugie had lived there since 
his earliest youth. Unlike Armand, who had 
quitted Touraine at twenty to become a Pari- 
sian, Prosper had remained Tourainian to the 
marrow. He was hardly ever absent from the 
Hermitage, except when he went to visit his 
sister, Mme. Eparvier. He did not sojourn 
long with the widow, but returned to his old 
home, where every morning he could be seen 
emerging, dressed in a straw hat, a flannel 
jacket and heavy shoes. Por hours he would 
trudge about his garden, his orchard or his 
vineyard, shaping up a rose bush, straighten- 
ing a peach tree, trimming a vine and reciting 
to himself from time to time a stanza from the 
Georgies, his favorite poem. 

Even in the hey-day of his youth he had 
never been in love. In principle he was a 
misogynist and did not care to bring a woman 
into his house, were she a legitimate wife. 
Perhaps the companionship of his sister, a 
creature at once egotistic, melancholy and fond 
of exercising authority, had early disgusted 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


71 


him with the notion of a conjugal companion. 
He was therefore a confirmed bachelor and 
divided his leisure between the care of his 
material interests and the “cultivation of the 
muses.” He had an ornate wit and piqued 
himself upon his literary knowledge. He had 
even, in his younger days, risked the publica- 
tion, by a bookseller of Touraine, at his own 
expense, of a slender volume of verses entitled 
“Through Touraine.” The edition, some five 
hundred volumes, still cumbered the shelves 
of a back room at the bookseller’s. A hundred 
copies only, had been taken — by Prosper — 
who disposed of them by giving them to people 
to whom he owed a politeness. This col- 
lection dated 1855 seemed, it must be admitted, 
ever so little old fashioned to the people who 
thumbed through its pages. In spite of his 
predilection for letters, however, La Jugie had 
kept only moderately abreast of modern move- 
ments. Confined to his Hermitage and 
having changed little himself, he had not 
noticed the change which had taken place in a 
quarter of a century in literary modes and 
tastes. If Armand Debierne had remained at 


72 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


cle Musset, Prosper continued to reek of Lamar- 
tine and of Chateaubriand, and to imitate their 
style. He never failed to speak of young girls 
as “young virgins,” and still spoke of the 
“chords of his lyre” in the fugitive poems 
which he occasionally read to his colleagues of 
the society of Belle Lettres. 

His political opinions had no more changed 
than his literary tastes; he remained catholic 
and royalist. His prudent royalism, it is true, 
never went beyond inoffensive vows and the 
reading of the Gazette of France; as to his 
Catholicism, that appeared more in his talk than 
in his acts. The good man was not a practical 
religionist and never unloosed his purse 
strings without grumbling, even for a pious 
contribution. He was given to sentimental 
ecstacies in contemplating nature ; spoke of the 
“starry sky” and called the moon the “queen 
of night;” in matters agricultural and scien- 
tific, he possessed no other notions than he had 
been able to derive from the Georgies or the 
Harmonies of Bernardin de Saint Pierre. 

In spite of his sentimentalism and poetic 
bias, he was very close in business affairs. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


73 


When it was a matter of dollars and cents the 
cunning and practical Tourainian appeared un- 
der the sounding elegiac phrases of Lamartine. 
He debated for days with his under farmer 
about the equitable sharing of a basket of 
grapes, or a peck of chestnuts, and was very 
close with his servants, to whom he measured 
out their wine, oil and wood most stingily. He 
was continually bickering with his sister whom 
he blamed for all his own short-comings and 
could be wheedled only by Madeleine for whom 
he exhibited the utmost tenderness. Even in 
this predilection for his only niece might be 
seen a sub- stratum of self interest — some- 
thing like the instinctive selfishness of a cat 
which purringly caresses its mistress, not to 
be agreeable to her, but for its own pleasure. 
Prosper loved to feel near him this freshly 
blooming youth, he took pleasure in looking 
at her and grew young again in her presence. 
The sincerity and self abnegation of Madeleine 
inspired confidence in this man of contrarieties 
who distributed everything. He was sure of 
his niece; sure of her disinterestedness, and to 
her he abandoned himself in his poetic sen- 


74 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


timentality without fearing that she would 
take him soberly at his word or abuse it to 
make an appeal to his generosity. 

Madeleine was too sensible and far-seeing 
not to divine the little deceptions and the false 
simplicity of her uncle. She was simply 
amused by it and never having been spoiled at 
home she could be contented with little. 
Moreover she felt so keenly the need of giving 
pleasure to others that it cost her nothing to 
be amiable to Prosper. For years the poetic 
effusions of M. de La Jugie, had seemed to her 
hollow and even ridiculous, nevertheless she 
was thankful to the simple man, for having 
been the first to initiate her into the enjoy- 
ment of art and to have suggested to her the 
cult of the beautiful. As a young child she 
had learned by heart her uncle’s favorite poetry 
and this reading had opened new horizons to 
her mind, as the common tunes of an hand 
organ give us all at once a revelation of the 
charms of music. She kept for this rudi- 
mentary initiation a respect, like that we have 
for the picture bcok that charmed our child- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


75 


hood and opened to us the domain of 
dreams. 

For the same reasons she loved the Hermi- 
tage and always visited it with joy. She found 
dear souvenirs in every room of the old house, 
in all the nooks and corners of the park and 
orchard. Here she had felt the first enthu- 
siasms of her Childhood and her first emotions 
as a young girl when Pierre Lamblin in his 
vacations deigned to come to talk with her and 
Nancy Kambert. The youth, freshly sharp- 
ened by his rhetorical training, already had 
the readiness and facility of elocution which 
distinguished him to-day. The two young 
girls admired this handsome lad, with budding 
moustache and laughing blue eyes. He impro- 
vised for them romantic stories, he declaimed 
verses and made madrigals in their honor. 
Even now Madeleine felt herself invaded by a 
delicious melancholy when, as she skirted the 
border of the vineyard, she recalled an October 
afternoon when Pierre pointed out to her a 
young almond tree which had already shed its 
leaves and had murmured in a soft voice the 
lines of Victor Hugo commencing: 


76 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“See, this branch is rough, and black, and the clouds 
Pour upon its naked bark the copious rain; 

But wait until the winter passes, and you’ll see 
The leaflets shoot from its rugged nodes.’’ 

She had learned these verses by heart and 
the next day after the Kambert wedding, in 
walking along the same path, watching the 
twilight descend upon the valley of the 
Clioisille, she reviewed in memory the events 
of the evening before. She paused by the 
almond tree; involuntarily the poem, once 
declaimed by Pierre, came to her mind and she 
repeated to herself: 

“After misfortune thy smile came to me 
It was winter, and now it is springtime.” 

Suddenly she heard the door bell tinkle in 
the distance; steps and voices sounded in the 
stillness of the evening, then the sonorous voice 
of Prosper traversed the garden. 

“Madeleine, where you? Come and see M. 
Debierne.” She returned quickly to the 
house, feeling vaguely that Armand Debierne 
had not come alone. In fact when she arrived 
at the base of the perron she recognized Pierre 
Lamblin with his guardian, 

“Good evening Madeleine,” said Armand, 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


77 


kissing the hand of the young girl, “I have 
brought Pierre who wishes to pay his respects 
to you, as well as to friend La Jugie.” 

Pierre held out his hand to Madeleine and 
then to M. de La Jugie. The latter who still 
had at heart the irreverent haste with which the 
young man had despoiled him of his toast re- 
sponded ceremoniously : 

“Good evening, gentlemen — you are very 
welcome — with your permission we will re- 
main in the garden — little one, bring us some 
beer.” 

They seated themselves around a rustic 
table and a moment later Madeleine returned 
with a servant maid bearing a tray loaded with 
bottles and glasses. 

“Come now! this is better than being in 
the house,” continued Prosper filling the 
glasses. He struck Armand familiarly on the 
knee: “I know your tastes old friend, you 
like this hour between light and dark, and you 
are right. It is the hour blest of all.” 

One could not talk long with M. de La 
Jugie without the conversation taking a lyric 
flight. To the great displeasure of Madeleine, 


78 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


Prosper, like those canary birds which sing the 
louder in proportion as the auditory is the 
more noisy, felt himself put upon his mettle 
by the presence of the young man whom he 
secretly regarded as an adversary. He 
wanted to feel the pulse of this Parisian and to 
show him that people of good taste in the pro- 
vince were as good as those of Paris. Grad- 
ually, in spite of Madeleine’s efforts to change 
the conversation, he led him up to his favorite 
ground and after declaiming some lines of the 
Meditations he demanded point blank: 

“Young man, you who cultivate eloquence, 
you ought to admire Lamartine?” 

Pierre who was bound to flatter Madeleine’s 
uncle responded with a complimentary eulogy 
of the poet, but involuntarily he praised him 
in a tone of condescension which irritated the 
nerves of M. de La Jugie. 

“Come now!” he interrupted with a feigned 
good humor, “do not try to cajole me. Con- 
fess frankly 'that you moderns think him an 
old nightingale.” 

“No sir, undeceive yourself,” replied Pierre 
with polite indulgence beneath which, how- 


MADELEINE EFAKVIER. 


79 


ever, could be perceived a disdainful indiffer- 
ence, “We have the most respectful admiration 
for that bard who has executed poetic varia- 
tions on the harp of Ossian ; I am even happy 
to say that before long there will be a reaction 
in favor of Lamartine and that he will be 
much quoted.” 

“Quoted, quoted!” exclaimed Prosper scan- 
dalized. “One would think you were speaking 
of some stock on the Bourse. On my word 
this is an impertinence which passes all 
bounds!” 

Debierne smiled and Madeleine Eparvier, 
knowing her uncle’s irritability, saw that the 
discussion was likely to become unpleasantly 
sharp and had the happy intuition of closing 
the combat by separating the combatants. 

“Monsieur Lamblin,” she interrupted 
audaciously, “I know you would like to see the 
garden before night. Come I want to show 
you how our almond trees have grown since 
your last visit.” 

She led Pierre into a by-path and mur- 
mured; “Think what you will of Lamartine, 
but do not demolish him before my uncle. 


80 


MADELEINE EPABVIEB. 


He will quarrel with you and I should be so 
sorry for it.” 

“If that is the case, Mademoiselle, I pro- 
mise you that hereafter I will proclaim the 
author of Jocelyn as the greatest poet of the 
century.” 

“You have no conscience,” objected the 
young girl, laughing. 

“Pardon me, but to be agreeable to you I 
am ready for any sacrifice.” 

“I do not ask so much, only do not cross my 
uncle. He is very susceptible.” 

They had reached the end of the garden 
and had crossed the path which separated it 
from, the vineyard, Madeleine stopped and with 
a questioning look at Pierre she asked. 

“Do you know this spot?” 

The young man rummaged his memory in 
vain. This path bordered with vines recalled 
absolutely nothing, but he saw, from the ex- 
pression of Madeleine’s face, that she attached 
a particular importance to his remembering it 
and he took good care not to betray himself. 

“Yes,” he answered evasively “I remember 
coming here, very well.” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


81 


“It was here you recited to me those verses 
about the branch of the almond tree: 

“ ‘ And you shall ask me, how a feeble bud, 

Tender and green can spring from this blackened wood.’ 

“At that time you were still fond of the 
poets.” 

“I love them always but I prefer those who 
respond most exactly to my state of soul.” 
“Ah!” 

She did not dare ask an explanation, though 
she did not understand him very well; yet by 
the accent of her voice and the watchful ex- 
pression of her eyes, half seen in the light of 
the dying day, it could be perceived that she 
would have been very glad to know what he 
meant by this mysterious state of his soul. 

“Our fathers,” he continued “saw life 
through a prism ; we see it as it really is, and 
we ask if it is worth the living.” 

“I think it worth the trouble,” she replied 
solemnly “as long as there is good to be done 
and people to love.” 

He looked at her a little disconcerted, and 
seeing that his affectation of disenchantment 
0 


82 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


produced no effect, he went on in a melancholy 
tone: 

“You are right; love, all is comprised in 
that word — only it must be found, and there 
are restless beings who do not know liow to 
look for it. For those, life is sad and full of 
tears.” 

“ Mon Dieu , the main thing it seems to me, 
is not to look for impossibilities. I have never 
had a very happy childhood, nor youth, yet I 
am content with the least pleasures; a kind 
word, a beautiful plant, found by chance, a new 
landscape discovered at a turn of the road, all 
these make me happy for the rest of the day. 
When I have been annoyed during the day, 
and in the evening walk in the light of the 
rising moon as at this moment, I feel myself 
rejoiced by its soft light shining in my eyes. 
When you walk with the moon over your 
shoulder does it not seem to you that you are 
going to some fete?” 

She pointed to the crescent moon rising 
above Saint-Cyr. In its bluish light la 
Ohoisille could be seen shining here and there 
in the meadows like the fragments of a broken 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


83 


mirror. The shrill cry of the tree frogs ac- 
companied the rustle of the wind among the 
foliage of the almond trees, and the green al- 
monds hanging from the branches could be 
seen out-lined against the silver lining of the 
upturned leaves. 

In spite of his theories of analyst and his 
role of disillusioned, Pierre Lamblin, who was 
something of a sensualist at bottom, loved the 
charm of this transparent August night, and 
the pleasure of having upon his arm, this sim- 
ple young girl whose soul opened so frankly to 
the emotion of nature’s beauties. He found in 
her an original strength a hundred times more 
attractive than the knowing coquetry of the 
dashing women with whom he was in the habit 
of talking nonsense. In the refinement of his 
pleasure, he forgot his ambitious calculations, 
with respect to an eligible match, and thought 
only of how to win the heart of this charming 
girl. Spurred by this desire, he gave himself 
up to it more and more. He put in play the 
resources of his supple wit and the persuasive- 
ness of his coaxing nature. 

Madeleine felt that he was unbending, be- 


84 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


coming more expansive, and at last finding him 
again the amiable comrade of her childhood, 
she in turn became familiar and abandoned 
herself to the charm of his society with more 
and more confidence. 

“ I have already told you,” she said, on en- 
tering the vineyard “that our almond trees 
have grown. You see how strong they are 
and how the branches bend under the ripe 
almonds! You must taste them.” She raised 
her arm, reached a branch and plucked some 
of the velvet coated nuts, then taking a little 
silver knife from her girdle she opened one of 
the shells, and presented it to Pierre. 

“Why,” observed the young man, “there 
are twin almonds. Let us divide them ; 
shall we.” 

“ That will be a philopoena then?” 

“ That will be a philopoena,” he repeated 
cracking his almond. 

“In that case be on your guard,” she said 
laughing, “for I will surprise you when you 
least expect it.” 

“ I shall be delighted to be your debtor.” 

“I do not like it so!” she protested. “If 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


85 


you do not defend yourself there will be no 
pleasure in it. Promise to play fair.” 

“ I promise you,” he answered holding out 
his hand. 

She shook hands in the English fashion. 

“ Agreed ; after to-morrow morning the game 
will be on. Now, let us rejoin my uncle and 
M. Debierne.” 

“Above all,” she added lifting a menacing 
finger, “ be careful not to assume superior airs 
in talking of Lamartine and remember for 
your future government that when it comes to 
Chateaubriand, uncle Prosper is still more un- 
reasonable.” 


86 


MADELEINE EPAKVIEE. 


V. 

As might have been foreseen, in spite of 
his promise to play fairly, Pierre Lamblin took 
pains to be caught at the first opportunity and 
voluntarily lost the pliilopoena. This would 
furnish him an excellent occasion to further 
his plans. He now found himself authorized 
to offer a souvenir to Madeleine which would 
flatter her and increase their intimacy. 

What sort of gift should he choose to 
show most delicately to the young girl his 
desire to please her? Once he thought of 
sending her flowers, accompanied by verses 
which he would adapt to the occasion; but 
that seemed too modest and too old fashioned. 
On the other hand the offer of a trinket might 
appear out of place and he might risk ruffling 
the susceptibilities of Mile. Eparvier. No, he 
must find some trifle which should not be com- 
mon place, but, at the same time should be a 
thing of art and beauty. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


87 


He went down to Tours one morning to 
make the purchase. While lounging along the 
Rue Royal he continued to be perplexed as to 
the choice of a gift which should acquit him of 
his philopoena. He had stopped before a 
large store devoted to bronzes and jewelry 
when his eye was attracted by an object in the 
glass window. It was a jardiniere in faience 
of medium dimensions and of very artistic 
execution. On the enamel of creamy white, 
through a mist of golden spangles, the deco- 
rator had lightly thrown a handful of grasses, 
of coreopsis and of violets. A garland of pale 
clematis running in relief along the edges, 
formed, by the interlacing of its branches, two 
delicate handles. The same motive was re- 
peated in the interior of the piece but a 
caprice of the artist had added in a corner a 
flight of blue butterflies. 

“ This is the very thing,” thought Pierre 
enchanted. He entered and asked the price of 
the jardiniere. 

“ Mon Dieu, monsieur,” responded one of 
the clerks, “it is very hard to say.” 

“Why! it is for sale, is it not?” 


88 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“ Probably, but we do not know the inten- 
tion of the artist; he asked us to put it in the 
window rather for show than as an object of 
sale. He did not even authorize us to make 
known his name.” 

“ But you know him? This jardiniere suits 
me and I am inclined to buy it if the maker is 
reasonable. Will you tell him so and ask him 
to call on me as early as convenient? Here is 
my address.” 

“Very good, sir,” replied the clerk taking 
M. Lamblin’s card, “we shall seethe artist this 
very day.” 

Pierre returned to Saint-Cyr felicitating 
himself with having put his hand upon the 
present which might please Madeleine most, 
and as soon as he reached La Fleurance he 
spoke of it in terms of admiration to Debierne. 

“It is surely a beautiful thing,” he said in 
conclusion “ and I am astonished that the 
author of it should wish to remain unknown. 
You, who belong to the neighborhood, do 
you happen to know a Tourainian ceramic 
artist?” 

“In the matter of ceramic artists,” replied 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


89 


Armand, “we have scarcely more than the 
workmen at Portillon. They work only for 
the trade and have nothing to do with true 
ceramic art. But be reassured, every artist is 
anxious to make himself known, and he who 
has made this flower stand will not hide his 
light under a bushel. To-morrow he will cer- 
tainly call upon you. When he comes, let me 
know, for I am curious to see him and admire 
your ‘ treasure trove.’ ” 

The next day, indeed, just as Pierre had 
finished dressing, he was told that M. Martial 
M£tevier wished to speak with him. The 
name was unknown to him, but he suspected 
that the visitor must be the maker of the jar- 
diniere, and he asked that he come up to his 
room. 

According to promise the clerk had imme- 
diately advised Martial and the latter had at 
once repaired to the store. The news of this 
windfall enchanted him. The jardiniere was 
the first work with which he was entirely sat- 
isfied. He had modeled it, and in doing so he 
had tried to render all the life and grace of all 
the plants he had copied. While engaged in 


90 


MADELEINE EPAEVIEK. 


the work these touching lines of Bernard de 
Palissy constantly ran through his mind: 

“I went away thinking that if I had found 
the invention of making enamel, I might make 
earthen vessels and other things of beautiful 
design, and from that time, without taking heed 
that I had no knowledge of argillaceous earths, 
I began to seek enamels like a man who feels 
his way in the darkness.” 

Martial had also groped in the dark in 
seeking the method of thus applying gold 
spangles to enamel, and during the baking he 
had suffered all the anguish which had assailed 
the celebrated potter, Bernard de Palissy. 
When the piece came from the oven his heart 
beat more quickly until he was satisfied as to 
the result. Nevertheless he still doubted the 
value of his discovery and in exposing it in 
the show case of the Rue Royal he had done 
so more by way of an experiment than with 
any serious hope of selling it. On learning 
that a buyer had appeared he had a sudden 
feeling of joy. This feeling diminished when 
he learned the name of the amateur. We 
know that Pierre Lamblin was not agreeable 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


91 


to him. Like many artists, Martial was supersti- 
tious and he had felt an extreme repugnance in 
selling his first work to a man who displeased 
him. All the same, as the merchant of the 
Rue Royal remarked, it was an unhoped for 
chance for a beginner and any hesitation was 
not to be thought of. Young Metevier was 
too anxious to emerge from his obscurity to 
lose much time in childish considerations, and 
he decided to carry his jardiniere in person to 
La Fleurance. 

When Pierre Lamblin saw him enter, 
clothed in a modest gray suit and wearing a 
rough felt hat, he could hardly conceal his 
surprise. He expected to see a man of mature 
age, with the easy, assured manner which ex- 
perience and a contact with a life gives. He was 
astonished to see before him a lad younger 
than himself, a little awkward, with the look 
rather of a workman than of an artist. He 
began to think he had to do with some appren- 
tice sent by the manufacturers. 

“Monsieur,” began Martial, “they told me 
you wanted to speak to me about my jardiniere 
and I have it here.” As he spoke he was un- 


92 


MADELEINE EPAEVIEB. 


tying the old newspapers with which he had 
wrapped the piece of faience and placed it 
upon the table. 

“ Did you make this? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Martial had hastily climbed the ascent of 
Saint-Cyr. The heat of August, joined to the 
sensation of discomfort he experienced in en- 
tering La Fleurance, had moistened his brow 
with perspiration. He drew his handkerchief 
from his pocket, wiped his temples, then care- 
fully replaced the wad of coarse linen in his 
trousers pocket, which remained stuffed out 
with it. This vulgar detail did not escape the 
not very benevolent observation of Pierre 
Lamblin. An exquisite in the matter of toi- 
lette, he studied with a disdainful compassion 
the inelegant gaucherie, the mean accoutrement 
of Martial, and he could not resist the tempta- 
tion to play at Maecenas before this poor 
inexperienced workman who did not appear to 
be rolling in gold and who did not wish to 
appear very needy. 

“How old are you?” he asked in a patron- 
izing tone. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


93 


“ Twenty-four years.” 

Pierre took the jardiniere in his hands and 
examined it with the air of a connoisseur. 

“ This piece is your first work?” 

“It is at least the first with which I have 
been at all satisfied.” 

“ Accept my compliments. It is not at all 
bad for a beginning. You have learned your 
trade at Tours?” 

“ Yes,” responded Martial shortly, for this 
manner of questioning was beginning to irri- 
tate him. 

“ I should have know T n that by certain faults 
in the details. For a debutant, as well en- 
dowed as you, a sojourn in a more artistic 
environment will now be necessary. You 
should visit our great collections of the Louvre, 
of Sevres and of Cluny, and receive instruc- 
tions from the masters of ceramic art. Do 
you not want to come to Paris?” 

“ No, monsieur, I think that even in the 
provinces one can study with advantage and 
execute what he has been able to conceive.” 

“I regret it, for in Paris I could be of use 
to you. I am not. strictly speaking, a collec- 


94 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


tor. I have neither time nor money for it, but 
I have relations with artists and amateurs and 
I might recommend you to them/’ 

“ I thank you,” dryly answered Martial, 
now becoming annoyed by the patronizing air 
of Lamblin. He knew very well that these 
offers of service were only a vain show intended 
to dazzle him. Lamblin had not yet spoken a 
single word which testified a sincere interest 
in the work or in the artist. Martial now re- 
gretted that he had come; his aversion for 
Lamblin was increasing and he was already 
seeking in his brain some pretext for refusing 
to sell him the faience. He added, therefore, 
in a more cutting tone: 

“ I know I have still much to do, but I pre- 
fer to overcome the difficulty myself.” 

“Perhaps you are wrong,” returned Pierre, 
surprised at this bitter resistance; “never 
mind, if I buy your work I will show it to my 
friends; they will take note of your name, and 
that will be an excellent advertisement for 
you.” 

“ I detest advertisements.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Pierre biting his lips. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER, 


95 


Vexed by the almost hostile attitude of Mar- 
tial, he was about to remonstrate a little sharp- 
ly that he was very obstinate and hotheaded 
for a debutant artist, when he was interrupted 
by the appearance of Armand Debierne. 

“ Pierre,” cried the latter, pushing the door 
ajar, “ breakfast is ready.” 

He perceived Martial; “Ah, pardon, you 
are busy. Say, is not this the bit of pottery 
you were telling me about?” 

“Yes,” said Pierre; “M. Metivier, who 
made it, has come to show it to me.” 

“Indeed, indeed! Permit me, sir?” he 
added, saluting Martial affably. 

He took the jardiniere and examined it with 
care. Little by little his sad face brightened 
up and a soft light shone in his eyes. 

“It is very beautiful!” he pursued with a 
concentrated emotion. “It is apparent that 
the artist has put his soul into this. With 
a few flowers naturally rendered you have 
found the means of moving me, young man. 
Here is the miracle of true art.” 

He grasped Martial warmly by the hand 
and the latter thanked him by a look in which 


96 


MADELEINE EPARVIEK. 


pride and tenderness were blended. The sim- 
ple words of Debierne touched his heart far 
more than the studied phrases of Pierre Lamb- 
lin. 

“ And it is you, lucky dog,” continued Ar- 
mand, “ who are to become the possessor of this 
beautiful thing?” 

“No, not exactly,” responded Pierre. “I 
intend to offer this jardiniere to Madeleine 
Eparvier, who will certainly take pleasure 
in it.” 

On hearing the name of Madeleine pro- 
nounced Martial could not repress a start. 
His cheeks reddened and the bitter thoughts 
which chased each other through his brain 
prevented his catching the questions which 
Pierre addressed to him. The latter, puzzled 
by his embarrassment and distracted manner, 
was obliged to repeat: 

“ Monsieur Metivier, there remains only 
the question of price. How much do you 
want for it? ” 

“ Pardon, monsieur,” responded Martial 
quickly, re-enveloping his faience in its cov- 
ering of old newspapers, “we do not under- 


MADELEINE EPABVIER. 


97 


stand each other. I do not wish to sell my 
jardiniere.” 

“Yet you came here with that intention?” 

“ I have thought it over,” dryly observed 
the young man. “ You were right, a moment 
ago, in pointing out its imperfections and I 
shall wait before selling my works until I am 
entirely satisfied with them. Excuse me.” 

Thereupon he put his packet under his 
arm, saluted M. Debierne, passed coldly before 
Lamblin and left. 

“That young cock crows very loudly!” 
muttered Pierre angrily. “You were wrong, 
monsieur, to load him with compliments. He 
leaves us with the conviction that he has more 
talent than Bernard de Palissy.” 

“ I think him very modest on the contrary,” 
replied Debierne, “only he has a sensitive 
heart and an excitable head. That is a fault 
of youth which unhappily is becoming rare. 
That young man pleases me. What is his 
name? ” 

“ Metivier.” 

“Metivier,” ruminated Armand, “why I 
know that family! That is the name of Mine. 

7 


98 


MADELEINE EPAliVIEK. 


Eparvier’s under farmer, and in fact, I now 
remember that this man had a son employed 
at the pottery at Portillon. That must be our 
man.” 

“You think so?” murmured his ward, who 
had suddenly become thoughtful and sullen. 

“ It is singular! ” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


99 


VI. 

Pierre’s sullen humor lasted throughout 
the breakfast. Not only was he vexed at his 
want of success but he had besides another 
motive for displeasure. The sudden refusal of 
Martial, following so closely upon the allusion 
to Mile. Eparvier, seemed queer to him. He 
had noticed the strange emotion of the young 
man when he heard the name of Madeleine 
pronounced and now that he knew the close 
relationship between the artist and the farmer 
of La Varenne, he suspected that this sudden 
change of sentiment might have been deter- 
mined by a secret movement of jealousy. The 
idea of having for a rival the son of a mere 
under farmer was particularly disagreeable to 
him. Not that he did Martial the honor to 
fear him; education and social station put so 
great a distance between the potter and Mad- 
eleine that he could not be dangerous. But 
Pierre judged others by himself. He thought 


100 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


that this young man, vain and vengeful, might 
not consider himself bound by any considera- 
tion of conventionality and that at his next 
meeting with Mile. Eparvier he might relate 
in his own way the story of the jardiniere. 
Now Lamblin, who feared ridicule above every- 
thing, avowed to himself that he had not acted 
a creditable part in this adventure. He cursed 
the chance which led him to the show case of 
the Eue Eoyal. If he had not been so bent 
upon having that bit of pottery, his self-esteem 
w T ould not have received so mortifying a check 
and he would not have been exposed, moreover, 
to the uncharitable comments of young Meti- 
vier. 

Nevertheless, after having soundly in- 
veighed against himself he reflected that 
anger is a bad counsellor and that the best 
thing to do was to repair the folly as quickly 
as possible by not letting Martial have the 
time to injure him in the opinion of Mile. 
Eparvier. For this it was necessary to make 
a deep impression upon Madeleine’s heart and 
to occupy her mind to such an extent that it 
would be closed to the unfriendly suggestions 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


101 


of this wretched potter’s apprentice. In the 
eyes of those who love us, we are rarely culpa- 
ble or ridiculous. It was necessary then 
before all else to make Madeleine love him. 
Like a well advised and prudent man, Pierre 
had from the first decided not to go too far in 
his love making until he was entirely informed 
as to the fortune and hopes of the young girl. 
He found her charming and he feared that if 
he were once taken captive by this charm he 
might be drawn so far that he could not honor- 
ably retrace his steps. But the incident of the 
jardiniere and the mortification of having had 
the worst of it made him lose all his self-con- 
trol. Touched to the quick by his supposed 
discovery that Madeleine had inspired Martial 
Metivier with a tender sentiment ; humiliated 
by the possibility of having this young man 
for a rival, he resolved to take the initiative 
and to strike a blow which would render him 
master of the situation. 

First of all he had to pay his philopoena, 
and since he had to renounce the jardiniere, he 
came back to his original idea of sending to 
the young girl some flowers and verses of his 


102 


MADELEINE EPARYIER. 


own composition. It was more commonplace, 
but Madeleine, brought up simply and not at 
all spoiled, was not likely to be blase in mat- 
ters of this kind. That same evening while 
walking up and down in his room he composed 
a poem of four stanzas, in which he paid a 
lover’s tribute to Madeleine’s fine brown eyes, 
which he compared to a limpid spring, half 
veiled in shadow, but which reflected the 
images of the stars, whose scintillating light 
filtered through the foliage of overhanging 
boughs. The lover, also, was compared to a 
devotee who brings his offering of verses to 
the feet of his divinity. The similes were~ 
prettily conceived, for Lamblin could write 
readable verses. He re-read these stanzas, 
slightly tinged with symbolism, and finding 
them fairly well done, he re-copied them on a 
sheet of English paper. The next morning he 
repaired to the best florist in Tours, ordered a 
basket of roses and orchids, and sent them, 
with the verses and his card, to Mile. Eparvier. 
Impatient to learn the effect which his present 
had produced, he rang the bell at the Hermi- 
tage in the afternoon. M. de La Jugie was 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


103 


absent ; it was Madeleine who came to meet the 
visitor. She blushed when she saw it was 
Pierre Lamblin, and, not daring to risk a Ute 
cl Ute with him in the parlor, proposed that 
they sit in the garden. There was, not far 
from the house, a weeping ash tree under which 
were ranged some rustic seats. On the right 
and left were some heliotropes which filled the 
air with a fine fragrance which Pierre con- 
sidered a good augury. 

“ My uncle has gone to his farm,” said 
Madeleine precipitately, “but he will be back 
in a little while. How is M. Debierne?” 

“Very well,” answered Pierre, a little out 
of countenance. 

He expected that she would speak about the 
present and began to be astonished at her 
silence. Finally seeing that she was bent on 
talking about indifferent things he lost pa- 
tience and asked. 

“ Did they bring you my philopoena? ” 

“Oh! pardon,” she replied, “I received 
your magnificent flowers ; you have spoiled me, 
and I thank you so much.” She blushed 
anew, seemed embarrassed and confined herself 


104 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


to praising the beauty of the roses, and the 
strangeness of the orchids without making the 
least allusion to the verses which accompanied 
them. This persistent silence, this cool re- 
serve, caused a feeling of vexation in Lam- 
blin. Without thinking himself a remarkable 
poet, he was accustomed to having some atten- 
tion paid to his verses. The absolute silence 
of Madeleine was too singular not to be pre- 
meditated. Still very much exacerbated by 
the misadventure of the day before, he thought 
that Mile. Eparvier had seen Martial, and that 
the malevolent comments of the artist had 
caused the young lady’s disposition to undergo 
a mortification. 

This disturbing supposition troubled him. 
He lost little by little that confident bearing 
which availed him so much in his ordinary 
intercourse with women. He had no longer 
the same liberty of spirit and his liveliness 
flagged. After exhausting all the common 
topics of conversation, the two young people 
seemed to have nothing more to say to each 
other. Happily at this moment Prosper de 
La J ugie appeared in one of the garden walks. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


.105 


The good man did not seem at all shocked to 
find his niece tefe d Ute with Armand De- 
bierne’s ward. The sending of the orchids 
had opened up agreeable perspectives to this 
imaginative and at the same time practical 
rhymer. He concluded that Lamblin must 
have taken a serious fancy to Madeleine. He 
argued to himself that this doctor of law would, 
after all be a very convenient suitor, and the 
less likely to be exacting, the more he was in 
love. He therefore welcomed him with more 
cordiality than on the occasion of his first 
visit. 

“ Excuse me, dear sir,” he cried, “ I did not 
know you were at the Hermitage and I was 
delayed with my foreman. Moreover you 
were in too good company to regret my 
absence. Madeleine, I am sure you have not 
once thought to offer any refreshments to M. 
Pierre.” 

But as Lamblin declared that he wanted 
nothing La Jugie did not insist and passed at 
once to another subject. 

“ What do you think of this month of Au- 
gust, eh? young man. Golden weather, isn’t 


106 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


it? For you Parisians who do not know rye 
from wheat, this bright sun suggests ideas of 
drives and walks only, but for us farmers it 
promises a full harvest, a plenteous vintage 
and that rejuvenates us. We might write 
with Virgil: 

'Bur a miM et rigui placeant in 'oallibus amnes 

And speaking of harvests, my young friend, 
let me show you something that will rejoice 
you. Come with me to the barn. You, little 
girl, if you fear the heat stay in the shade 
under the ash tree. We will be back within 
a half hour.” Madeleine declared that she 
was not afraid of the sun, and that she would 
be delighted to walk with them. She put on a 
straw hat and lightly followed Uncle La Jugie, 
who had taken Pierre’s arm. 

He led the two young people into the lanes 
bathed in light, and noisy with the music of 
grasshoppers and did not spare Pierre a 
square yard of the enclosure. At the Hermit- 
age the different crops bordered the garden on 
all sides; fields of clover, of corn, plantations 
of almonds and scattered clumps of chestnut 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


107 


trees. This gave to the domain a quite rustic 
appearance, which was set off by the farm 
buildings, shaded by squatty walnut trees. 
Under the blinding August sun all this coun- 
try side, planted in fruit trees, gave one an 
impression of great abundance and prosperity. 
When the promenaders came to the edge of 
the barnyard, they saw that the doors of the 
barn were wide open. Around the sheds, 
under the walnut trees, large wheat stacks had 
been erected. In the midst of them a steam 
thresher puffed and whistled, while laborers 
threw into its insatiable maw the sheaves of 
wheat snatched from the continually diminish- 
ing stacks. An aureole of golden dust hov- 
ered above their heads, and in spite of the 
greedy activity with which the thresher en- 
gulfed the bundles, it seemed as if it would 
never finish with these formidable piles of 
ripened grain. 

“Just look at that!” exclaimed Prosper, 
rubbing his hands in glee. “ That is the har- 
vest of this summer. Ah! the year has been 
good and we shall not die of hunger this win- 
ter. And everything is in proportion; the 


108 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


oats, the walnuts and the grapes. There is 
something to be proud of, you will agree, young 
man, especially when I reflect that I have 
created it all. When I began to cultivate this 
land, the half of it was fallow and there was 
more heather than meadow. The Hermitage 
is dear to me, as was his paternal domain to 
Lamartine. When I return to it after a few 
days’ absence I am tempted to sing like the 
poet: 

‘ Yes, I return to thee, cradle of my childhood — 

I shall grow old here,” he continued in an 
altered voice, stretching out his arms to the 
four points of the compass. 

“‘To see the fruits of our orchards hanging above our 
heads, 

The fruits of a chaste love, springing to our arms; 

And, leaning upon them, to go down life's evening slope, 
’Tis enough for him who is to die.’ 

“ Properly speaking, I have not had 4 the 
fruits of a chaste love,’ since I am a confirmed 
bachelor; but,” he went on, laying his hand 
on Madeleine’s shoulder, “ I lean on the arm 
of this almost daughter, who will be the staff 
of my old age, and who, after me, will enjoy 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


109 


these trees, while sometimes thinking of him 
who planted them. I look upon Madeleine as 
my only daughter, my dear sir, and my great- 
est happiness is to cherish her. Besides, 
everybody spoils her. And you yourself, my 
young friend, have loaded her with flowers 
this morning. Those orchids are really mar- 
vellous.” 

He interrupted the stream of his eloquence 
on seeing an enormous load of sheaves, drawn 
by two oxen, coming slowly up the lane. 

“ This way, Deniset ! ” he cried. “ The barn 
is full. Unload the wagon behind the fence and 
get it ready for the threshers at once. Par- 
don, Madeleine,” he said, addressing the young 
girl, “keep M. Lamblin company; I will join 
you in the chestnut grove.” 

He quitted his two companions abruptly 
and Pierre saw him, not without a certain 
pleasure, go away with the carter. The lavish 
abundance of the farm rejoiced his heart and 
he felt altogether serene, after having received 
from the mouth of Prosper himself, the assur- 
ance that Madeleine would be his sole heir. 
He did not find the simple gentleman so ridic- 


110 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


ulous now, and lie felt kindly toward him for 
his allusion to the sending of the flowers. 
However, he noticed that La Jugie, as well as 
Madeleine, had made no allusion to the verses 
wdiich accompanied the bouquet. 

“It is evident” he thought “that Mad- 
eleine has said nothing to him about it. In 
his character of confrere he would not have 
failed to speak of my madrigal if it had been 
shown him. If the young girl has kept my 
verses for herself alone, then they are not in- 
different to her. There is a mystery here 
which it would be well to clear up.” 

When they reached the chestnut grove he 
said to Mile. Eparvier. 

“I am happy that my bouquet found favor 
in the sight of your uncle ; I was a little afraid 
he might not like such a present of flowers.” 

“Why? He knew we had a philopoena 
together and it seemed quite natural to him.” 

“ Did he read the verses which accompanied 
them?” 

“Oh! no,” responded Madeleine quickly. 

“ And you, have you read them? ” 

She blushed and looked troubled. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


Ill 


“ Oh certainly.” 

“ Then they displeased you since you have 
not spoken of them? ” 

She remained silent. 

“Did they vex you?” continued Pierre? 

She raised to him her large sincere eyes, 
in which there was a shadow of embarrassment. 

“No, rather astonished.” 

“ Astonished? ” 

“ Excuse me, I reason perhaps like a pro- 
vincial, but do they say such things to young 
girls in Paris ? ” 

“ Certainly, and many others besides.” 

“ And they find no fault with them ? ” 

“ On the contrary they are flattered by 
them.” 

“Well, we here in the country — I speak 
of the savages of my species — we would think 
we were mocked and that is a little mortify- 
ing.” 

“ Then you took my verses for a pleas- 
antry? ” 

“ For an exaggeration at least.” 

“Nevertheless, what I wrote to you was 
below the truth.” 


112 


MADELEINE EPARVIEE. 


“I pray you,” protested Madeleine, becom- 
ing grave, “ do not go on! It is excusable 
to exaggerate in verse but not in simple 
prose.” 

“Do you doubt my sincerity?” 

“How can I help doubting it? I am not 
silly enough to presume upon it. Besides, I 
fancy when one thinks seriously of such things 
one ought to be too much preoccupied to write 
such pretty verses.” 

Pierre listened to her dumbfounded. In 
spite of his skepticism, he could not help ad- 
miring the honest sincerity of this soul. At 
the same time he secretly studied the face of 
Madeleine, in the moving shadows of the chest- 
nut trees. This face with its pure eyes was 
so open that it could be read as through trans- 
parent water. The sweet grave light which 
shone in the brown pupils of the young girl, 
revealed a quiet joy mingled with distrust. It 
was easy to see that she was afraid of deceiv- 
ing herself into being too happy. 

You do not believe me,” cried the young 
man, in a reproachful tone. “ Why do you 
distrust me? ” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


113 


“I — I do not like to be deluded,” she 
murmured in a very low voice. 

“Well,” he said stopping and looking very 
tenderly upon her, “ I swear that I am sincere 
and that you are adorable.” 

As he spoke he seized her hand and held it 
to his lips. Madeleine was so troubled that 
she did not even think of withdrawing it 


8 


Ill 


MADELEINE EPAKVIEK. 


VII. 

At this juncture M. de La Jugie rejoined 
them in the chestnut grove. Madeleine, 
scarcely recovered from her emotion, profited 
by this respite, and the zeal with which Pros- 
per resumed his talk with Lamblin, to fall a 
little behind. When the two men were thirty 
paces in advance, she entered a lateral path, 
quickly gained the house and ran to take 
refuge in her chamber. After what had hap- 
pened she felt an overmastering desire for 
solitude, in order to regain possession of her- 
self. 

She was blinded, like one who suddenly 
passes from the bright sunlight into darkness, 
and at first she found it hard to see clearly 
into her heart. Her thoughts were in confu- 
sion ; contradictory sentiments struggled for 
the mastery, shame, fear and at last a dumb 
joy. For a moment she asked if she were not 
the dupe of an illusion. At the same time, as 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


115 


if to confirm the reality of her recent adven- 
ture, she seemed still to hear ringing in her 
ears, the words: “I swear that you are adora- 
ble,” and still felt upon her hand the pressure 
of Pierre’s lips. Then her blood nearly 
stopped coursing in her veins, her heart ceased 
to beat for a moment and she became very 
pale. 

What! was it to her, Madeleine, the wild 
Madeleine Eparvier, raised so severely in the 
desert of La Varenne, that this declaration had 
been made? Was it her hand this young man 
had so audaciously kissed? And she had not 
fainted with confusion, had not even thought 
to withdraw her imprisoned fingers from those 
of Pierre Lamblin? What would be thought 
of it and how would she be judged? 

She had already asked herself this question 
after she received the verses of the philopoena. 

She had thought them too bold, not well cal- 
culated to be addressed to a young girl, and 
she had inquired of herself whether by her 
actions or her words she had ever authorized 
Pierre to speak to her of love in this tone. 
She was not a coquette. She did not even 


116 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


know the meaning of the word “ flirting,” 
which young girls now practice without the 
least compunction. She interrogated her con- 
science in vain ; she did not feel guilty of any 
frivolity which could have encouraged Pierre 
Lamblin to treat her with the levity he might 
have shown Mme. des Yoclines. At one time 
after reading Pierre’s madrigal, she had re- 
solved to send it back, thus showing her dis- 
pleasure, but I know not what sympathetic 
indulgence had pleaded in favor of the poet, 
and the young girl’s resolution had weakened. 
She decided to keep silence, and now she saw 
that her reserve had only served to embolden 
M. Debierne’s ward. Even at this moment, 
while avowing to herself that she had sinned 
ignorantly, Madeleine was again brought to 
plead extenuating circumstances in favor of 
the culprit. Had he not honestly excused 
himself of all intention to offend? Had she 
not also granted an easy absolution in accom- 
panying him to the barnyard when Uncle 
Prosper had hinted to her to remain at the 
house? And if she had not had the courage 
to treat the young man with coldness, was it 


MADELEINE EPARYIEE. 117 

not because a stronger inclination drew her 
toward him in spite of herself? If, instead of 
being wounded by his persistent declarations 
and his impudent kiss upon her hand, she felt 
a confused joy in them, it was because she 
loved Pierre. Having for a long time been in 
the habit of questioning herself severely and 
of never lying even to herself, Madeleine 'did 
not seek to delude herself as to the nature of 
the new sentiment she had just discovered in 
her heart. Yes, she loved Pierre Lamblin, 
and she would have been happy had she known 
that he cared only for her. But did he love 
her truly, seriously, as she would like to be 
loved ? 

Once she reviewed in memory all the acts, 
even to the slightest words, of Lamblin since the 
evening of the Rambert wedding, and by an 
optical effect very natural with those who are 
deeply in love, she saw all that had taken place 
in a light which reassured her. She read over' 
the verses of the pliilopoena and seemed to 
recognize a moving, almost respectful accent 
in the final strophe. 


118 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“ Alas! to evoke the shy god, 

I have found only verses and flowers. 

Kneeling I kiss the hem of thy robe, 

And lay them a gift at thy feet, 

Bright-eyed Philippine — ” 

The delicious dawn of love illumined her soul 
and all dazzled by the sudden light, she re- 
mained in her room, abandoning herself to a 
maidenly intoxication. In the midst of the 
hum of the insects in the garden she distin- 
guished the sound of footsteps on the gravel 
walk, then the voices of Pierre Lamblin and 
Prosper rose to her, faint, muffled, as if they 
were far away. Madeleine did not stir. She 
did not dare to rejoin Pierre and her uncle, 
fearing that the former might read too clearly 
upon her face the causes of her inner joy. 

A little later she heard the gate of the 
court creak on its hinges and close; then a 
slow step ascended the perron; the young girl 
perceived in the silence of the house only the 
monotonous humming with which her uncle 
always accompanied his solitary meditations, 
and whiph resembled the purring of a con- 
tented cat. 

“ He is gone,” thought Madeleine, and be- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


119 


coming bolder, she decided to leave her cham- 
ber. 

In the parlor, whose blinds were closed on 
account of the bright glare of the sun, she 
found her uncle stretched out in an easy chair, 
his legs extended, reposing after the fatigues 
of the afternoon. 

“ Where have you been, little one,” he asked 
his niece. “ M. Lamblin and I looked every- 
where for you. The young man, knowing that 
you were to leave for La Yarenne day after 
to-morrow wanted to say good-bye and seemed 
very sorry at your absence, but he will return 
to-morrow.” 

“ Ah! ” murmured Madeleine. 

“Yes, I invited him to dinner with M. De- 
bierne and the Lamberts. I supposed you 
would like to see him again with all your 
friends before your departure.” 

“ How kind you are! ” cried the young girl. 
She kissed her uncle with such an effusive 
tenderness that he was amazed. 

However, the simple La Jugie was too 
shrewd to be deceived. “ Hum,” thought he 
“ that was a very demonstrative embrace. I am 


120 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


curious to know whether it would have been as 
warm had I invited Debierne without his ward ? 
Decidedly the little one has a partiality for 
this fine talker. The girls of the present day 
have a strange taste. This fellow does not 
please me greatly, but if he is enough in love 
to take Madeleine without a dowry we shall 
not have so much to complain of. In these 
days it is not so easy to marry off the girls 
and my sister Eparvier will not complain this 
time at my intervention.” 

The following day the antique dining room 
of the Hermitage saw reunited within its four 
walls, wainscotted in walnut, Armand Debierne 
and his ward, the Ramberts and their son 
Marcel. Though the simplicity of La Jugie’s 
table was proverbial, Madeleine had ingeniously 
supplemented what was absent in luxury, by 
pretty and graceful arrangements entirely 
feminine in their characteristics. At the four 
corners of the table, the handsomest fruits of 
the orchard were arranged on beds of vine 
leaves, and wine from the host’s own vineyard 
laughed from old, cut glass carafes which the 
young girl had unearthed from a wall press. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


121 


When slie went to sit at the left of Prosper de 
La Jugie — the right being occupied by Mine. 
Sidonie Rambert — she glanced over the cover 
with an air of satisfaction, thinking it was not 
unworthy of Pierre Lamblin. 

Mme. Sidonie Rambert, since the marriage 
of her daughter put on the airs of a young 
ingenue more than ever. Her blond frizzes 
formed an almost infantile frame for her deli- 
cate and faded features; she ate mincingly; 
drank milk instead of wine, on account of a 
weak stomach; spoke with a juvenile volubility 
and took no pains not to snub M. Rambert. 
The latter, bald, red faced, with a broad, full, 
sandy beard, with a timid but cunning blue 
eye, seemed completely extinguished in the 
presence of his wife. He spoke little, and if 
he tried by chance to put in a word, Sidonie 
interrupted him sharply and in the most irrev- 
erential manner. Then he would go to eat- 
ing again, always with a robust appetite and 
limited himself to listening admiringly to the 
strange discourses of his son Marcel, who was 
not so easily snubbed by the loquacious Mme. 
Rambert. Strutting in his short blue jacket, 


122 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


his button hole ornamented with an enormous 
rose, with one hand fumbling a pin, stuck in 
his white cravat and the other caressing his 
imperceptible moustache, the collegian inter- 
rupted Prosper and Debierne, and in an 
arrogant tone, interjected into the conversation 
aphorisms in the style of the following: “ The 
future will belong to the intransigeants ” — 
“ Vice and virtue are products like vitriol and 
sugar ” — which had about the same effect 
upon M. cle La Jugie as so many dynamite 
cartridges exploding in his plate. 

“ I have had news from our children,” said 
Mine. Bambert to her neighbor; “ they are at 
Luchon and are amusing themselves greatly. 
It is natural at their age, you know. Nancy 
writes me that she is much noticed — she had 
lunched the day before at the cascade d’ Enfer 
and in the evening danced till two o’clock at 
Lady Ealsworth’s. She described her dress; 
a dark satin Mas de Parme with the corsage 
draped with silver lace and cut “ V” shaped in 
the back. 

“Christi!” interrupted Marcel, “the danc- 
ers must have been vastly entertained for 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


123 


Nancy has a back — that is all I have to 
say!” 

“ My child,” protested Mme. Rambert with 
a great show of modesty, 4 4 at your age you 
should not speak of such things.” 

44 Why not?” objected M. Rambert in his 
benevolent manner, 44 the boy lias good taste. 
Besides your daughter wears gowns so very 
decollete that no one can ignore them.” 

44 Monsieur Rambert,” replied the lady, 
44 you are positively shocking. You have never 
properly understood these delicate questions 
where the modesty of a woman is at stake.” 

44 Modesty,” sneered Marcel, 44 Oh! ha! ha! 
It is a singular virtue which takes off its 
clothes in the evening and puts them on again 
in the morning. It is a pure convention, as 
Duclos says.” 

44 You have read Duclos, have you boy?” 
exclaimed Debierne shocked, 44 my compliments 
you are getting along.” 

44 1 hope so,” retorted the collegian, bridling. 

Pierre murmured in Madeleine’s ear: 44 This 
young schoolboy is astounding; he has a can- 
did nihilism which amuses me.” 


124 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“I think him more a braggart than de- 
praved, but he is insupportable,” replied Mile. 
Eparvier. 

“ You are not indulgent.” 

“ No, affectation and posing are repugnant 
to me.” 

They were at the dessert ; Prosper filled all 
the glasses with foaming Vouvray, then lifting 
his own: 

“ My friends,” said he in his chorister’s 
voice, “ let us quit for a moment vulgar real- 
ities and soar toward the heights; I propose a 
toast to youth, present and absent, and to 
poetry, which is the same thing.” 

Arms were extended, glasses tinkled, and 
when calm was restored, La Jugie continued: 

u Speaking of poetry, you know, my dear 
neighbors, that Mme. Rivoire, the Tourainian 
muse, gives her last literary matinee to-day, 
and she will expect you. The society of 
Belles Lettres will all be there and I am to 
read some verses, my ode to the Chateau de 
Langeais. You will come, will you not, dear 
madame ? ” he added, turning toward Mme. 
Rambert. 


MADELEINE EPAKVIEE. 


125 


“ When it is a question of hearing one of 
your productions, we will be enchanted to ac- 
company you, M. Rambert and I.” 

“But, my dear,” M. Rambert felt obliged 
to protest, “the matinees of Mme. Rivoire 
annoy me terribly.” 

“No objections, Monsieur Rambert, your 
presence is indispensable.” 

The unfortunate husband bowed his head, 
grumbling to himself. 

“ Agreed! ” cried Prosper triumphantly. “ I 
will take you in my carriage. Will you go 
with us, daughter?” Madeleine, like an 
obedient niece, was about to reply in the af- 
firmative, when her eyes met those of Pierre 
Lamblin and read in them a mute but signifi- 
cant prayer. 

The young man had hoped to pass the 
whole afternoon with her, and his look seemed 
to demand as a boon the granting of these last 
hours. 

“No, excuse me; it is too fine to be shut 
up and I have promised M. Lamblin to show 
him the mill of La Choisille.” 

“A walk across the country! I am of the 


126 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


party,” said Marcel, without heeding Made- 
leine’s frown or the sour looks of Lamblin. 

“How, my child,” cried Mme. Rambert, 
“you who love poetry, you are not coming to 
Mme. Rivoire’s?” 

“No, thanks, I prefer the scaffold, mamma. 
Go and asphyxiate yourselves in that academic 
box if you like; as for me, I prefer taking the 
air in the fields in company with Mile. Made- 
leine.” 

Prosper had a good mind to call to order 
this young sprig, who spoke with such seem- 
ing irreverence of the respectable parlors of 
the “ Muse of Touraine,” but he prudently re- 
flected that the addition of Marcel to Pierre 
and Madeleine would remove all appearance of 
impropriety in the walk planned by these two 
young people. While wishing to see Lamblin 
engage himself seriously to Madeleine, he did 
not fancy incurring the reproach of having 
been an insufficient chaperon to them. He 
feared the recriminations of his sister, Mme. 
Eparvier, whom he knew to be a stickler for 
the proprieties. The company of the collegian 
seemed to him a sufficient guarantee; with 


MADELEINE EPARVIEI1. 


127 


this lad as a third party, Lamblin would be 
held in a prudent reserve and the t&te a t&te 
would lose all compromising character. 

“Well, that is arranged,” he said in a 
good-natured tone. “We will let those young 
folks amuse themselves in their own way and 
we old ones will go to taste poetry at its pure 
source, ad aquae caput sacrce /” 

They rose from the table. 

“No, it is dislocating, my word of honor!” 
whispered Marcel, taking Pierre Lamblin’s arm. 
“ To hear Alexandrines for two hours in a 
continuous flow, he calls that tasting poetry! 
Are not you of my opinion, my dear fellow? 
Do you not think it time we had finished with 
the Alexandrine? ” 


128 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


VIII. 

A quarter of an hour later, Madeleine, 
Pierre and the collegian were threading in 
single file the narrow path leading down, 
through the vines, toward the Choisille. The 
weather was ideal for walking; the sky car- 
peted with light clouds, softened the glare of 
the sun and a cool breeze from the east tem- 
pered the heats of August. However, the two 
young people did not seem to enjoy, as they 
ought to have done, the charm of this warm 
and clouded afternoon. The company of Mar- 
cel, imposed upon them against their will, embar- 
rassed them visibly and they remained taciturn. 
The collegian alone, still feeling the effect of the 
Vouvray, did all the talking and his slender 
voice, with its sharp falsetto notes, could be 
heard above the cry of the grasshoppers. Like 
all people, who when they are a little under the 
influence of wine have some one idea which is 
dear to them, he returned again and again to his 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


129 


subversive opinions respecting versification. 
Squeezed into his short walnut colored coat, 
his hat tilted back on his head, he repeated to 
weariness, while decapitating with his cane the 
unfortunate thistles which grew in his path: 
“ Yes, the Alexandrine will have to go.” 

“You seem to have a grudge against the 
poor Alexandrine,” said Pierre exasperated, 
“ It must be you have had to copy them so 
so often in your imposed tasks in college.” 

“Tasks! I despise them,” replied the col- 
legian, shrugging his shoulders. “It is sim- 
ply a question of suppressing these parnassian 
manias and of proclaiming the liberating doc- 
trines of our school.” 

“Ah! you have a school?” inquired Pierre 
ironically; “are you a decadent?” 

“To the marrow of my bones. We pro- 
scribe the Alexandrine because it is worn out, 
run down at the heel, inadequate for the 
amplitude of modern verse. We wish the 
triumph of rhythm in its musical exterior- 
ity.” 

“ That is clear,” continued Pierre with, the 
same dry, sarcastic tone. “Naturally you 
9 


130 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


liave composed verses according to the new 
esthetic canon?” 

“Yes, I have in preparation a volume en- 
titled Les Deboires , which I shall publish as 
soon as my old fossil of an ancestor hands me 
the wherewith to pay the publisher. And it 
will rout the old fashioned poets, I assure you. 
Listen — .” 

He planted himself before his companions, 
his back towards the low wall covered with 
flowering house leeks. His pose was hieratic, 
a far away look in his eyes and with bowed 
head lie began in a monotonous tone a series 
of verses, vague and uncertain in meaning, but 
which were intended to be mystic, and to rep- 
resent the new departure in poetic method, 
dubbed decadent by the collegian and his 
friends. Similes of “shadow” and “dream,” 
where an “ autumnal heart ” is made drunken 
upon the “wild odor” of a “ mythologic bac- 
chanal,” and where sighs the “bitter chant” 
of a “barren wind;” where the “ night falls in 
long curtains gemmed with gold ” and where 
“strange choirs breathe the soft and veiled 
hymn of the forever,” filled these stanzas with 


MADELEINE EPAHVIER. 


131 


mere resounding phrases, devoid of sense and 
reason. 

“Well, eh?” inquired Marcel, stopping to 
take breath. 

“It is a very original rhythm,” answered 
Lamblin sarcastically, “ have you much more 
like that? ” 

“Would you like more of it?” 

“No not here; we would not get the true 
flavor of it.” 

They had resumed their walk in the meadow. 
Madeleine allowed the poet of Le$ Deboires to 
pass before and leaning toward Lamblin she 
murmured : 

“ He is killing! How tiresome! ” 

“Yes,” said Pierre, “he is a real Jonah.” 
He looked at the collegian, who, choked in his 
high stiff collar like a criminal in the stocks 
and brandishing his cane, was muttering his 
verses. “If we could only get rid of him!” 
he insinuated. At the same instant a wicked 
thought came into his mind. He took his cigar 
case from his pocket and addressing Marcel 

“Do you smoke?” he asked amiably. 

“Do I smoke?” responded the other with 


132 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


liis falsetto voice, “ par bleu! Hashheesh, 
tobacco, the divine opium — the whole gamut.” 

“ Permit me to offer you a cigar.” 

He handed him an enormous brevets which 
the young man lighted without winking. 

They resumed their walk, now skirting the 
banks of the little river. Marcel never left 
Madeleine’s side, to whom he kept reciting 
langorously his decadent strophes, at the same 
time puffing vigorously at his large cigar. 
From time to time he interrupted his flow of 
words to compliment Lamblin. 

“ Exquisite, your cigars! Where do you 
get them? An aroma strangely suggestive.” 

Pierre watched him attentively, as a fisher- 
man watches the fish he has hooked, and which 
is about to drown itself by its own struggles. 
Suddenly Marcel stopped, raised his hat and 
wiped his moist forehead. 

“What is the matter,” inquired Pierre 
hypocritically, seeing him turn pale. 

“ Nothing — the heat doubtless — my head 
seems to turn.” 

“That will all pass in walking. Will you 
take my arm ? ” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


133 


“ Thanks, I will.” 

From pale the collegian became of a 
greenish hue; his eyes grew misty and his 
legs wavered. “ Decidedly,” he stammered, 
“ this will not do. Let me go back, my head 
spins.” 

“What is the matter with him?” cried 
Madeleine uneasily. 

“ He is sick at the stomach and wants to go 
back. Be good enough to walk before. I will 
take him to the Hermitage when the crisis 
has passed.” 

An expression of disgust passed over the 
lips of the young girl, who hurried away. It 
was time. The future poet of u Les Deboires ” 
had never experienced a sorrow as bitter and 
as mortifying as this. Kneeling at the edge of 
the water, his head charitably held up by 
Lamblin, he vomited violently, complaining in 
the intervals of being “ absolutely intoxicated.” 
When the crisis was nearly passed Lamblin 
raised him to his feet. He was in a lamenta- 
ble state; haggard, dark circles around his 
eyes, his cheeks pale and sunken and his 
cravat in disorder. Pierre hoisted him like a 


134 


MADELEINE EPARVIER, 


package to the top of the path, where Made- 
leine, greatly perplexed, was awaiting them. 
The languid gaze of the crestfallen youngster 
distinguished vaguely the white dress of the 
young girl under an almond tree and amid his 
renaissant pangs of nausea he was conscious of 
the humiliation of his adventure. 

“ Do you think,” he stammered, “ that she 
saw me yonder — by the river?” 

“No, no, she suspects nothing; courage, 
man.” 

“Ah! thank you.” 

“Well?” asked Madeleine of Pierre. 

“It is over,” replied Lamblin, literally 
dragging the sick man along the path. “ He 
only needs to go to bed now, and I am going to 
take him to Pochettes.” 

Up to this time the collegian had kept still, 
overwhelmed by shame and also by a splitting 
headache, but these last words aroused him 
from his torpor. 

“No,” he begged with anguish, “not to 
Pochettes — on account of the servants, you 
understand — no matter where, only not there.” 

Madeleine, after repressing a feeling of 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


135 


repugnance, took pity on the youth, whose 
miserable plight awakened her charitable in- 
stincts. 

“Let us take him to the Hermitage,” she 
whispered in Pierre’s ear. You can put him 
to bed in the spare room and I will make him 
some tea. It would be a mercy to leave him 
alone while he is in this state.” 

This arrangement did not displease Lamb- 
lin. He directed the collegian’s footsteps 
toward the vestibule and the staircase while 
that young man leaned heavily on Pierre’s 
arm and braced himself against him to climb 
each step. By way of excuse Marcel muttered, 
“Strange state of the soul! Total intoxica- 
tion! Pirst time it ever happened to me.” 

When he had got him into the spare room 
Pierre took off his coat, cravat and shoes and 
assisted him to stretch out on the bed. A 
quarter of an hour afterward, Madeleine knocked 
softly and passed, through the half open door, a 
cup of hot tea, well sweetened, which Pierre 
slowly administered to the sick youth. The 
latter drank freely; then, overcome by the 
vehement emotions of his walk by the river 


136 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


side, he closed his eyes and soon afterward 
was asleep. Lamblin slipped out of the room 
on the tips of his toes and rejoined Mile. 
Eparvier, who awaited him in the hall. 

“How is he?” she asked 

“Better; he is sleeping and in an hour or 
two he will be all right. This decadent poet 
has not a very strong head. A half cigar paid 
him for all his importunities.” 

Madeleine could not help smiling ; then 
repenting this lack of charity, she raised a look 
full of soft reproach to Lamblin. 

“ You have played him a bad turn. That 
was not very humane — what you did to him.” 

“ Do you blame me for having rid you of 
the tiresome fellow?” 

“No; but to have made him cruelly sick.” 

“I had no choice of means and I was 
furious to see the last moments I had to pass 
with you spoiled by the presence of this both- 
ersome boy.” 

Madeleine remained thoughtful, her head 
turned toward the garden, her eyes looking 
into the distance. She dared not answer for 
fear that Pierre should see her emotion. Fol- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


137 


lowing the example of Marcel, the house 
seemed asleep. Outside, the large trees, which 
bordered the yard, intercepted the rays of the 
sun and plunged the facade of the house into 
a peaceful shade. Above a clump of petunias 
a butterfly of the sphinx variety was slowly 
sailing and turning in the air, his wings ex- 
tended and drinking in greedily the aromatic 
breath of the violet-colored flowers. Ear off 
in the direction of the barns the puffing of the 
thresher lulled to drowsiness the house and 
garden. All breathed an impression of soli- 
tude and of restful serenity, auspicious to 
lovers’ avowals. 

Pierre Lamblin, standing a little behind 
Madeleine, and leaning upon the window sill, 
contemplated admiringly the supple lines of 
the young girl’s form, the curve of the neck; 
the elegant turn of the back and waist, of her 
face he could only distinguish the vague pro- 
file; the eye half veiled beneath the long joined 
lashes ; a glimpse of the mouth ; the tip of the 
chin; but, by a slight movement of the 
shoulders, he guessed the agitation of that 
virgin soul, into which the emotions of love 


138 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


had penetrated for the first time. He too felt 
the intoxication of this fete d t&te in the depths 
of a deserted house. His wishes, thwarted 
and exasperated by the untimely presence of 
Marcel Rambert, revived more strongly than 
ever in this solitude. The nearness of this 
young girl who, he felt, was ready to open her 
heart to him, the seduction of that chaste 
beauty, and the attraction of her presence in 
its entirety, robbed him little by little of his 
sang-froid, his skepticism and his prudence. 
He calculated no longer; he thought only of 
enjoying those exquisite sensations which the 
company of a beautiful young girl, who seems 
disposed to allow herself to be loved, gives to 
a young man of twenty-six. 

“ Yes,” he went on in a low voice as if he 
feared to awaken the sleeping house, “ I have 
been hoping since yesterday for the moment 
when I might again find myself near you, and 
the intrusion of that young ninny enraged me. 
I was vexed that the hours so long wished for 
should glide away without the possibility of 
my being able to tell you what I feel.” 

Madeleine’s head drooped more and more 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


139 


and her confusion increased. She felt a pre- 
sentiment of what those confidences would be. 
She was secretly happy, but she dreaded the 
minute when this love so modestly concealed 
would have to be openly declared. 

“ Dear Madeleine,” continued Lamblin, 
“ do you not guess the secret which I wish to 
confide to you? ” 

Oh! yes, she guessed it and yet, she, who 
never told a lie, stammered in a scarcely audible 
voice : 

“ No — I do not know — .” 

“ I love you. My only happiness is to see 
you, and the idea that you are going away to- 
morrow plunges me into despair. Yes, 1 love 
you passionately — I no longer have the 
courage to keep silent. Will you pardon me 
for having spoken?” 

She was silent, with her face turned toward 
the trees in the garden. 

“You do not answer,” he pursued, with 
intonations caressing and sad. “ Have I 
offended you?” 

“Do you speak the truth?” she murmured 
at last. 


140 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“I love you!” lie repeated, bringing his 
face close to hers. 

She hesitated a moment longer, her lips 
trembled ; yet she opened them to pronounce 
these words in a firmer tone: “I cannot lie, 
and I blame myself for not answering you 
more frankly. What you have said has not 
made me angry — but it is not to me alone, 
but to my uncle and my mother that it should 
be said. La Yarenne is not far from Saint- 
Cyr, and if you come to see us with M. De- 
bierne, mamma will be glad to welcome you.” 

“And you Madeleine?” 

“I — I shall be happy to see you again.” 

“ Dear child, I adore you! ” 

He took her hands and drew her to him. 
She scarcely resisted, yet she remarked the 
impropriety in this quasi abandonment of her- 
self. She lifted her clear eyes in a mute sup- 
plication. His only response was to place 
his lips upon her brow and softly kiss her 
eyes. 

She broke away quickly, became very pale 
and taking a step backward 

“ No! ” she cried, “ what you do is not well. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


141 


Listen! I hear a noise in the guest chamber. 
Perhaps Marcel is worse — leave me — adieu.” 

“No! au revoir! At La Varenne! I love 
you!” 

She hastily withdrew. Pierre went into 
the room where he had put the collegian to 
bed and found him up, repairing the disorder 
of his toilette. 

“Are you better?” he asked ironically. 

“Yes, it is all over; I shall go home now,” 
answered Marcel looking ashamed. “ But I 
dare not go out alone. Is Mile. Eparvier there.” 

“ No, she has gone out. You will not meet 
anyone — come.” 

They went out together, gained the gate and 
Pierre escorted the young man, still pale, to 
the door of Rocliettes. 

“Good night!” he said in parting. 

“ Ah! ” sighed Marcel, “ what an adventure. 
Mum is the word, eh ? If not, I am dishonored 
forever.” 

“Bah!” answered Pierre railingly, “con- 
sole yourself, it will be a precious addition for 
your volume of Deboires. The whole gamut 
you know, my boy, the whole gamut! ” 


142 


MADELEINE EPAEYIEE. 


IX. 

A few days later a victoria carried Arman d 
Debierne and Pierre to La Varenne. Beyond 
La Franche the road led straight across the 
plateau, among vineyards and wheat fields, al- 
ready harvested, which did not prevent Armand 
from thinking it beautiful, seen in the morn- 
ing dew. He was enchanted with the step 
about to be taken by his ward, and the joy ^he 
felt on this account made him see everything 
in bright colors. His features were less mel- 
ancholy, his eyes were smiling, and his lips 
whistled from time to time some old tune of 
his boyhood. 

Pierre neither hummed tunes nor smiled. 
The level road, bordered with gnarled elms, 
seemed to him without charm. His attitude 
was pensive; he was thinking of the rapidity 
with which this matrimonial adventure had 
passed from the condition of a vague outline, 
to the precise form of an almost engagement. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


143 


When, after taking Marcel to his home, he 
had returned to La Fleurance, the exaltation, 
caused by his talk with Madeleine, had given 
place to calmer reflections. He was one of 
those spirits who are never carried away by a 
sudden enthusiasm, and with whom reason 
quickly puts a stop to ebullitions of the imag- 
ination and of the senses. Once in his own 
room, away from the presence of Mile. Epar- 
vier, he had examined the situation coldly. 
He could not deny to himself that he had just 
acted like a schoolboy in allowing himself to 
be intoxicated by the beauty of Madeleine, and 
in going much farther than prudence would 
have counselled. The young girl was not one 
of those with whom one could play at making 
love and immediately break it off, without re- 
morse. There was something to be respected 
in the sincere and tender manner with which 
she had received the declarations of Pierre, 
and now he found himself morally engaged. 
It was because he had put himself in a posi- 
tion from which he could not honorably re- 
treat that he was so thoughtful. He now 
reproached himself for want of circumspection, 


144 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


but it gave him some assurance to repeat over 
again in his mind those words of Prosper de 
La Jugie. “ After all,” he said, “why should 
I worry over trifles? So far there is nothing 
to be alarmed at. Madeleine is pretty, w r ell 
connected and rich in solid expectations, since 
La Jugie has promised to dower her. The 
moment I had decided to make a good mar- 
riage I could not have chosen better, and in 
showing myself warmly in love with Mile. 
Eparvier from the first day, I have, on the 
contrary, managed very adroitly, and I can 
hereafter go on without uneasiness and no one 
can say that I have speculated on the fortune 
of this adorable heiress.” 

Comforted by these considerations, ne had 
lulled himself to a peaceful sleep. The next 
morning he had gone down to his guardian’s 
study and in his most serious manner had told 
of his love for Madeleine Eparvier. 

“ Yesterday evening,” he added, “ I told her 
I loved her, and my declaration did not seem 
to displease her. She avowed that she would 
be happy to see me at her mother’s, and so 
we are half engaged.” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


145 


“You are altogether engaged,” answered 
Debierne candidly, embracing liis ward heart- 

i] y- 

This news filled him with joy. That same 
evening he wrote Mine. Eparvier, to inform 
her of Pierre’s intentions and to ask an inter- 
view. The latter, already notified by Prosper, 
and having wrested a partial avowal from 
Madeleine, had no hesitation. Happy to see 
her daughter established in life under condi- 
tions hitherto unhoped for, she had hastened, 
two days after, to respond to the overtures of 
Debierne, by an invitation to breakfast to him- 
self and ward. 

And that is why, on a morning bright with 
sunshine, Pierre and Armand rolled along the 
level road to La Varenne. That is why the 
old tunes of the long ago came back to the 
lips of Debierne, and that is why Pierre Lamb- 
lin could not help feeling a certain fear, lest 
this solemn visit might be considered as a 
tacit demand in marriage. Possessing neither 
the poetic imagination nor the ready enthusi- 
asm of his guardian, the landscape seemed 
characterless to him and the road tiresome, 
10 


146 


MADELEINE EPABVIEE. 


The appearance of the approaches to La Va- 
renne did not contribute to modify this first 
impression. The domain of Mine. Eparvier, 
situated in the open country, above Saint- Sym- 
phorien, was a profitable property, more remark- 
able for the fertility of the soil than for the 
picturesqueness of its scenery. It was reached 
by a road paved with rough stones, bordered 
by high shrubbery, leading to a stone wall, 
through which one passed by a porte cochere 
strongly bound with heavy iron bars. 

The view of the grassy court where some 
fowls were feeding, the front of the house, of 
a dull, dirty yellow, the high windows, with 
their small panes of glass, and the two holly 
trees which were placed near the perron, with 
its damp, greenish steps, gave Pierre a feeling 
of cold disappointment. At the noise of the 
approaching carriage, the, door of the vestibule 
opened and Mine. Eparvier appeared on the 
steps. 

She was a thin, slender woman and was 
dressed in black. Her hair, scarcely begin- 
ning to turn gray, framed with its recalcitrant 
bands, an olive-hued face. Her brows were of 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


147 


a dead black and slie liad a stern forehead and 
a grim mouth. The expression of her eyes 
and lips had something both of suffering and 
sweetness ; the voice had intonations both 
plaintive and uncandid. Madeleine must have 
resembled her father, for there was nothing in 
her mother’s features which recalled the open 
and virginal face of the girl. 

‘Welcome to La Varenne,” said Mme. 
Eparvier ceremoniously, as the two visitors 
alighted from the victoria. “ Monsieur De- 
bierne, it is amiable of you to have deigned to 
accept the hospitality of a poor widow. Mon- 
sieur Lamblin, I am enchanted to see you. 
My brother has spoken to me of you in such 
excellent terms that I was impatienf to know 
you. Be pleased to enter, gentlemen! ” 

She showed them into the parlor — a high, 
dark room, where in spite of the heat of Aug- 
ust, there reigned a penetrating dampness. 
The AVaxed floor w r as like a mirror; the furni- 
ture, of the style of the Empire, upholstered 
in red cloth, was ranged methodically along 
the walls, which w r ere wainscotted in wood, 
painted a gray color. Before each chair a 


148 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


small square of cloth testified to the care taken 
by the mistress of the house to preserve the 
lustre of the floor. One would divine, from 
the icy symmetry of the chairs, that this par- 
lor was rarely opened and used. Nevertheless 
a skillful feminine hand had tried that day, to 
give to this gloomy room a more homelike and 
hospitable look. In the jardinieres in the 
angles, on the round marble-topped table, on 
the piano, bloomed bunches of roses and vio- 
lets. In the branches of the lustres and can- 
delabras, the same hand had artistically twined 
garlands of ivy and honeysuckle. 

While Pierre, disappointed and out of 
countenance, endeavored to divert himself by 
an examination of these flowers and this ver- 
dure, evidently arranged for his pleasure, the 
rustling of a dress was heard at the door, and 
Madeleine entered, dressed simply in a gown 
of white* woolen stuff, which contrasted with 
the ceremonious and rigid silk robe of Mme. 
Eparvier. 

“ Here is my dear daughter, Madeleine, 
gentlemen,” said the widow, kissing the young 
girl on the forehead with affectation. 


MADELEINE EPAEYIER. 


149 


Debierne embraced Madeleine as a father 
would have done, while Pierre took her by the 
hand. 

“ Excuse her for keeping you waiting,” 
continued Mme. Eparvier. “ She was busy 
with the preparations for the breakfast. Our 
cook is so negligent that she has to be watched 
constantly. When the master’s eye is not 
present all goes wrong. I have kept the old 
traditions, Monsieur Debierne, and I insist 
upon my daughter’s occupying herself with 
the smallest details of housekeeping. Will it 
be ready soon, my child?” 

“Yes, mother.” 

In fact, a few moments after, a servant, as 
sour-visaged as her mistress, came to announce 
that the repast was ready. The widow took 
Arm and’ s arm, Pierre offered his to Madeleine, 
and they passed into the dining hall. 

This room, with walls painted in imitation 
of marble, paved with black and white tiles, 
was as cold and spacious as the parlor. Mad- 
eleine had endeavored to correct this coldness 
by the gay and engaging aspect of the table. 
This was arranged with taste. The cloth was 


150 


MADELEINE EPARVIER, 


delicately wrought. There were shining silver 
and baskets of flowers. 

As soon as the napkins had been unfolded 
Mine. Eparvier in her whining tone began to 
make excuses for the slenderness of the fare. 
“ In the country we have so few' resources, and 
the service is so bad!” She v r as afraid the 
guests would be condemned to meager cheer. 
Nevertheless in spite of this preamble which ap- 
peared of evil augury to Pierre, the breakfast 
was good and the menu abundant. The widow 
appeared to be surprised herself. From her 
startled looks when a new dish appeared, it 
became evident to the guests, that Madeleine, 
to w r hoin had been assigned the duty of arrang- 
ing . the menu, had manifestly exceeded the 
limit set by her mother. This prospective of 
supplementary credit increased, no doubt, 
Mme. Eparvier’ s disposition to be melancholy 
for her voice became more plaintive as she en- 
larged, with complaisance, upon the sorrows of 
her wudowhood ; on the embarrassment in which 
the death of the late Eparvier had left her, 
with a daughter to bring up and a farm to look 
after and manage. Thank God, she had extri- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


151 


cated herself from these difficulties with honor ; 
the revenues of La Varenne had almost 
doubled; as to Madeleine, her mother, without- 
exceeding the bounds of modesty could boast 
of having educated her in a superior man- 
ner. 

This egotistic chatter, interrupted with 
sighs, amused Pierre Lamblin somewhat. 
“ All mothers, who have daughters to marry, 
are alike,” he thought; “but this one seems to 
me to be particularly tiresome and displeasing. 
I shall have some trouble in making her know 
her place.” Whatever else he thought, he began 
to play his role of aspirant. He took smiling 
poses, seemed to listen with deep interest to 
the long panegyrics of Mine. Eparvier and 
forced himself to reply amiably. Being in the 
habit of discussing easily all subjects, the most 
diverse, he found words appropriate to the 
occasion; he talked of farming, domestic eco- 
nomy, the theory of fertilizers, with the calm 
indifference of a politician who executes varia- 
tions upon his electoral theme. Madeleine 
looked at him, from time to time, with an ap- 
proving glance and w^as grateful to him for 


152 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


sustaining so bravely this dragging conversa- 
tion whose tiresome monotony she so well 
knew by frequent experience. As to Armand 
Debierne he admired the ease and coolness of 
his ward. “ The young people of to-day,” he 
thought “ are more knowing and more self 
possessed than those of my time. When I was 
in love, my heart was so oppressed and my 
brain so preoccupied that I could not have put 
two sentences together.” 

The breakfast came to an end and the com- 
pany returned to the parlor. 

“ Madeleine, my child,” said Mme. Eparvier 
opening the piano, “ will you not regale us 
with a little music? ” 

“ And now,” thought Pierre, “ it is the 
piano. It is in the program of this terrible 
woman who will spare us in nothing.” 

“It is not very good taste to praise one’s 
daughter,” continued the widow, seating her- 
self on a lounge by the side of Debierne, “ but 
Madeleine has an agreeable voice and I should 
do myself the justice to say that I have spared 
no pains to cultivate her talent. Since she 
left her boarding school, she has had a singing 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


153 


master wlio comes from Tours, twice a week, at 
five francs a lesson.” 

“ Sing us one of your romances, Madeleine.” 

The daughter obeyed and sat down at the 
piano. 

“ I am going to sing one of your favorite 
airs,” she murmured, addressing Debierne. 

She began the first measures of Gounod’s 
barcarole : 

“ Tell me young maiden 
Whither are you going? 

The bark spreads his sails 
And the breeze is a blowing.” 

Mine. Eparvier had not overrated her 
daughter. Madeleine possessed a sweet voice 
well modulated, and she sang with much feel- 
ing. In hearing this air, which recalled his 
youth, Armand Debierne had the hallucination 
of a vanished past. He seemed again to see 
the well-beloved of his twentieth year, Sabine 
de Vabre, sitting at the piano playing for him 
this romance then in its first newness. To this 
memory was joined the thought that Pierre 
and Madeleine might, thanks to his interven- 
tion, enjoy that happiness which had been 
denied to Sabine and himself. His heart was 


154 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


touched, his eyes moistened and when the 
young girl had touched the last chords, he 
rose much moved and clasped her in his arms. 
For his part, Pierre applauded very earnestly, 
though the song appeared to him, very much 
like all other sentimental productions of the 
kind. 

Madeleine embarrassed by these rather 
effusive demonstrations turned to Mine. Epar- 
vier. 

“Mother,” she insinuated, “ M. Lamblin 
does not know La Yarenne. Perhaps he 
would not object to walking a little.” 

“ Very well,” replied the widow who desired 
to have a private conversation with M. De- 
bierne, “very well, you will take charge of 
him.” 

She consulted Armand with a look — “I 
think we may now permit them to take this 
walk without violating the proprieties — .” 

“Go on young people, I am afraid of the 
£un and I will remain with M. Debierne.” 

“ Thanks! ” whispered Pierre in Madeleine’s 
ear as soon as they were in the garden. 

“Thanks! why?” she asked blushing. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER.' 155 

“ Thanks for understanding that I was 
anxious to be alone with you. I was melting 
in that parlor.” 

“ You were bored; acknowledge it. Mam- 
ma’s conversation is that of a woman interested 
only in business matters, and it is a little dry 
sometimes.” 

“ I did not say that; but I prefer yours. It 
seems a century since I saw you.” 

“Truly? I will confess in my turn that I 
am not sorry to take a walk with you. I want 
to show you our garden and all my favorite 
nooks, that you may see me in imagination 
when you return to La Fleurance.” 

“ Dear child! ” 

Now that he once more found himself side 
by side with Madeleine, amid the rose-bordered 
walks of the garden, he experienced anew the 
charm which the young girl exercised upon 
all around her. They gaily threaded the 
clumps of shrubbery, then sat down upon a 
rustic bench shaded by a large black mulberry 
tree, whose blood red fruit colored the ground 
under it. 

“Here,” resumed Madeleine “is my pre- 


156 


MADELEINE EPAEVIEE. 


ferred spot, the place where I often come with 
my book. This old tree has for years been the 
confidante of my dreams, of my memories and 
of my sorrows.” 

“Of your sorrows! Then you have not 
been happy ? ” 

“I have not always been; but now — .” 

“Now?” 

“ I am satisfied — to see you at our home.” 

“ Then you will not in the future doubt my 
sincerity when I tell you that I love you ? ” 

“No, but I was very excusable for doubt- 
ing it a moment. It was so unexpected! The 
day of the Kambert wedding you took little 
notice of me. You were very assiduous in 
your attentions to the lady who lives at L’ 
Orfrasi&re.” 

“ Mme. des Yoclines. And you were 
jealous of her? ” 

“I had no right to be jealous; I was only 
pained to see that you had not recognized 
me.” 

“ Child, the moment I found you again, I 
paid attention to no one but you.” 

“ In spite of all that, I did not dare to 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


157 


believe that you would think seriously of me. 
I am so unsophisticated, so little used to the 
ways of the social world! I said to myself 
that I had nothing which could please a man 
like you, and even now — 

“ What, wicked one, you still doubt me?” 

“ No, not you but myself. I am so happy 
to have been chosen by you that I am afraid 
to dream — Do you know,” she interrupted 
laughing, “ that you are a brave man to love a 
poor girl? For I have nothing. My mother 
is not willing to deprive herself of her small 
fortune, that is understood; she has worked so 
hard to amass it.” 

“ What does it matter,” replied Lamblin 
with a careless air, “you have your uncle 
Prosper.” 

“ Uncle Prosper!” she repeated, without 
seeming to understand. 

“Yes, M. de La Jugie who loves you and 
who will dower you.” 

Madeleine shrugged her shoulders and 
smiled as one who has been disabused of an 
illusion, which Pierre observed and which gave 
him a very disagreeable impression. 


158 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“Oil! my uncle Prosper. Between our- 
selves he is a very poetic and very liberal in 
words; but I know him thoroughly and am 
not deceived by his promises. Bah!” she 
added, seeing Pierre’s face darken, “I am not 
spoiled and I can get along without a great 
many things. We will live modestly. Besides 
you have a fine future before you and if we truly 
love each other, it will double our resources.” 

He listened to her with a horrified look. 
In spite of his schooled self control he could 
barely conceal his disappointment. The words 
of the young girl troubled him cruelly. It 
seemed to him that a sudden cloud had inter- 
cepted the light which, but a moment before, 
had given such a charm to the candid face of 
Madeleine. She noticed at last the pensive 
look of her lover, but her own soul was too lofty 
and she thought too well of him to suspect the 
real cause of his distraction. 

“ Yes,” sighed Lamblin, making a desper- 
ate effort to regain a little of his serenity, 
“ We are young and the future is for us. Un- 
fortunately, we live in a terribly positive world 
and one which lends only to the rich.” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


159 


He was disconcerted and could not find 
those beautiful sonorous phrases, which ordi- 
narily fell so easily from his lips, and which 
would have aided him in. masking his preoccu- 
pation. The voice of Debierne, recalling the 
young people, came just in the nick of time to 
relieve him from his embarrassment. Armand 
judged that the interview had lasted long 
enough, and that the time had come to return 
to La Fleurance. 

“Good-bye, sir,” said Mme. Eparvier to 
Pierre when he took his leave. “ You know 
the road to La Varenne. When you visit us 
you will always be welcome.” 

Pierre shook hands with the, widow and 
then with Madeleine, but he shunned looking 
directly into the limpid eyes of the young 
girl, and when the carriage had disappeared on 
the stony road, Mile. Eparvier felt some inde- 
finable fear tighten about her heart. 


160 


MADELEINE EPABYIEE. 


X. 

The gravel creaked under the wheels of the 
carriage as it rolled along over the level road, 
on which lay alternately bright patches of 
light, cast by the setting sun, and the dense 
shadows of the great elms, which lined the 
route. Stacks of wheat were reared here and 
there in the harvested fields, about whose sum- 
mit circled flights of starlings. Occasionally 
the vivid green of a vineyard relieved the gray 
monotony of the stubble fields, or a farm 
house showed its red roofs through the branches 
of a clump of walnut trees. The silence of 
nightfall was broken only by the three sharp 
notes of the quails — bo — bob — white — call- 
ing each other in the corn. The barking of a 
dog could be heard from a distant farm house, 
and then succeeded a soothing calm. 

The serenity of the warm air and of the 
twilight sky intensified in Armand Debierne 
the dreamy and tender state of mind which 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


161 


he had brought from his visit to La Yarenne. 
On the contrary, it produced in Lamblin a 
super-excitement of his nervous condition. 
With his forehead deeply wrinkled, his lips 
tightly shut, he was gloomily rolling a cigar- 
ette between his fingers, a prey to the most 
disagreeable reflections. Was not Madeleine 
Eparvier mistaken? Was she as poor as she 
pretended? He already knew that she had 
little to expect from her mother, but he had 
always supposed that Prosper de La Jugie 
would settle upon her, in advance of her inher- 
itance, a substantial dower ; otherwise he would 
never have dreamed of this marriage. In a 
few words, the young girl had shaken his be- 
liefs and now he was anything but confident. 
Was she ignorant of the intentions of her 
uncle? Had she wished simply to put her 
lover to the proof? This last hypothesis, wel- 
comed for a moment by Lamblin, because it 
tranquillized him, wa,Sj after an examination, 
rejected as wanting in probability. Madeleine 
was so sincere, so little calculating, that such 
an idea could not have originated in her 
brain. 


11 


162 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“Then,” said Pierre to himself, “I have 
fallen into a snare, and I shall expose myself 
to ridicule in concluding this foolish marriage. 
Certainly, Madeleine is pretty and attractive; 
she possesses the highest moral qualities, but 
for a man who is ambitious, and who is not 
given to illusions, all these advantages without 
money are purely negative. I am not chival- 
rous, and I glory in it. I belong to a world 
where abnegation and the heroic virtues are 
regarded as silly weaknesses. If the rumor 
spreads abroad that I am going to marry a 
poor girl, I shall lose my prestige at once. I 
shall be judged a man lacking in grasp and 
capacity, and I will be esteemed accordingly. 
On the other hand, if I coldly abandon Made- 
leine on account of her poverty, the same 
world will cast stones at me. It is molded of 
unreasonableness; it makes everything subor- 
dinate to success, but it expects a hypocritical 
respect for appearances ; and it will not permit 
its prejudices of honor and prescription to be 
trampled under foot. In the eyes of certain 
pharisees, to break off a marriage for a mere 
matter of money, after plighting one’s word, 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


163 


is a villainy, nearly as unpardonable as cheat- 
ing at play. 

“ I can say nothing- in my own defense. I 
have gone so far that this rupture will cause a 
scandal in a country where I expect to make 
my debut as a politician. I have asked per- 
mission to come to La Varenne and it has been 
accorded, and I am already regarded as a 
Jianc6. Prosper de La Jugie, who is a St. 
John of the golden mouth, has no doubt al- 
ready published the news of the future mar- 
riage of his niece. By my own fault I have 
brought myself into a difficulty from which 
there is no issue. If I marry I condemn my- 
self to a mediocre career and disqualify myself 
for the course I had planned. If I retire from 
the engagement I shall be accused of indeli- 
cacy and disloyalty, and my reputation among 
the good society of Touraine will be ruined. 
A fine beginning for a young man wdio aspires 
to represent his fellow citizens in Parliament! ” 

Then a feeling of rage took possession of 
him. His amour-propre revolted. He could 
not admit that he, Pierre, the coolest head in 
the Turgot debating society, should have been 


164 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


so easily duped. “I certainly was not mis- 
taken,” lie went on. “ I heard Prosper, with 
my own ears, declare that he looked upon 
Madeleine as his daughter and that he would 
leave her his property. A man who proclaims 
such things, before a third party, cannot, un- 
less he be an unheard of swindler, marry his 
niece, his sole heiress, without settling an hon- 
orable dowry upon her. Now, I prefer to 
think that Madeleine lias failed in perspicacity, 
and that she is too much given to measuring 
her uncle with the yard stick of Mme. Epar- 
vier. 

While Pierre was indulging in this mental 
soliloquy, Debierne, who was leaning back in 
his corner of the carriage, continued his retro- 
spective reverie: 

“ YeSj” he repeated, “yes, it is very true; 
true love exhales a perfume which turns all 
heads. As our peasants say — when two lovers 
pass we smell the fragrance of flowers. Ah, 
well! that flower of tenderness; I breathed its 
aroma during that interview at La Varenne, 
and it went to my head. When I saw the vir- 
gin-like face of Madeleine illuminated, I felt 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


165 


that I should in my turn become her lover. 
Lover of a shadow, alas ! When life has failed, 
and one reaches his fiftieth year, he must be 
content to eat his bread in the smoke of the 
roast beef of others. No matter; this specta- 
cle of young and innocent love which blooms 
in the sunshine for the first time, has revived 
in me all the emotions of long ago. This 
tranquil home at La Varenne reminds me of 
my own nest at Brignons, and when Madeleine 
began Gounod’s barcarole, I seemed to see 
Sabine de Vabre, seated at the piano one even- 
ing in our parlor, and singing that same song: 

‘ Tell me, young maiden, 

Whither are you going?’ 

That evening, as I remember, the darkness 
already filled that part of the room in which I 
had buried myself. Through the open window 
a star could be seen. When the song was fin- 
ished and the singer turned to me, night had 
fallen. I could distinguish nothing but the 
star in the heavens and the luminous points in 
Sabine’s dear eyes: 

‘ The bark spreads its sails, 

And the breeze is a-blowing.’ 


166 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


The gale will nevermore blow for Sabine nor 
for me, but it will rise for others. It has risen 
for Madeleine and Pierre, and in my solitude 
I shall have this consolation, that 1 have pre- 
pared the dawn of their love. To aid others 
to taste the rare joys of life, is to be happy 
one’s self. Madeleine did not disguise lier 
satisfaction ; contentment could be plainly read 
on her face. Pierre contained himself better. 
I should have overflowed with joy, but the 
young folks of to-day are made of colder clay 
than we were. They live more within them- 
selves and are more masters of themselves. 
If, like Pierre, I was returning from an inter- 
view with a young girl whom I adored and 
who was altogether adorable, I could not help 
talking to my traveling companion about her. 
I would talk him to distraction. On the con- 
trary, he limits himself to a silent contempla- 
tion of his happiness. Perhaps he is not less 
happy in his way. Oh! Sabine, your son shall 
owe his happiness to me. 


‘ Lead me, said the maiden, 
To the faithful shore 
Where love is evermore!’ 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


167 


Yes, it is I who have guided his steps to the 
shores of requited love, and that is enough for 
me. My life has not been spent quite in vain. 
I should like to hear Pierre think aloud, and 
thank me for having given him a helping hand. 
I shall expect to hear in his voice an echo of 
Sabine’s. What a reserved and undemonstra- 
tive fellow he is! He will not open his lips.” 

44 Monsieur Debierne,” said Lamblin at the 
same moment, as if he had divined the inner- 
most desire of his guardian, 4 4 Mile. Eparvier is 
the sole heiress of M. de La Jugie, is she not ? ” 

Of all the communications which Armand 
might have expected, this one could have been 
the least foreseen. 

44 Eh ? ” he exclaimed, starting. 44 Yes, 
Prosper has no other niece, and Madeleine 
will undoubtedly be his heiress. But why do 
ask?” 

44 Apropos of a word let fall by Madeleine. 
Do you think that Prosper will settle a dowry 
upon her at her marriage?” 

44 It is probable.” 

44 Has he told you so? ” 

44 No, but I suppose so. He will be too 


168 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


well satisfied not to give some proof of it to 
liis niece in the contract.” 

“ Then,” answered Pierre, in a short, disap- 
pointed tone, 4 4 you have only vague presump- 
tions on the subject. It seems to me that first 
of all, we should be sure of M. de La Jugie’s 
intentions.” 

44 Why!” cried Armand astonished; 44 what 
fly is stinging you now? Have you not just 
repeated to me that you were in love with 
Madeleine? ” 

44 Certainly.” 

44 Well, then! Whether La Jugie dowers 
her or not, what matters it? You are not 
making a money match ! ” 

44 It is precisely for that reason that I want 
everything arranged beforehand. When she is 
once definitely provided for, I can pay my court 
without any reservation. I shall be obliged, 
therefore, if you will see M. de La Jugie, as 
soon as possible, and ascertain just what he 
intends to do for his niece.” 

44 This is a queer proceeding ” grumbled 
Debierne, much shocked. 44 1 am frank to say 
to you that I do not like to act in money mat- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


169 


ters, and least of all on this occasion. It is 
always a very delicate matter, if not a little 
impertinent, to go to a man and say: ‘My 
ward loves your niece passionately; neverthe- 
less, before he can marry her he would not be 
displeased to be told the amount of her dowry.’ 
There is something in all that which is repug- 
nant to me.” 

“But it is done every day. Besides M. 
Prosper is so good a friend that you can 
frankly ask him the question.” 

“Do you insist upon it?” 

“ Indeed I do.” 

“Very well, I will go to La Jugie to-mor- 
row ; but the importance you attach to knowing, 
all this takes away my breath.” 

He brought his face near that of his ward, 
and looking him straight in the eyes, he asked : 

“ You are sure you love Madeleine? ” 

“ Why do you doubt it? ” 

“Dame! in my time, when a man was in 
love he forgot everything and thought only of 
his sweetheart. It appears that that also is 
old fashioned. Devil take the new method. I 
prefer the old.” 


170 


MADELEINE EPAKVIEK. 


XL 

Clad in a suit of gray cotton cloth, almost 
white from many washings, a straw hat, orna- 
mented with a blue band, on his head, a pair 
of silver-mounted eyeglasses on his nose, 
Prosper de La Jugie was perched upon a lad- 
der erected before a trellis. In the soft 
morning light, his robust silhouette was out- 
lined in white against a background of the 
verdure of the vines, and the leaves shaking 
beneath his touch, showed his hands occupied 
in placing liorse-hair sacks over the ripening 
bunches of grapes. He was humming his 
favorite tune, which, mingled with the buzzing 
of insects, sometimes resounded victoriously 
and sometimes stopped short, as he came to a 
bunch stung by the wasps. The noise of a 
step on the gravel walk made him turn his 
head suddenly, and he shaded his eyes with 
his hand, that he might distinguish the inter- 
loper who had come to interrupt his work. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


171 


“Good morning, Prosper!” cried M. De- 
bierne. 

“All! it is you, my old friend! Good 
morning. You see I am about to defend my 
grapes against the invasion of the barbarians. 
If I do not look to it, these mischievous wasps 
will not leave me a grape.” 

With prudent precautions he came down 
his ladder and sat down heavily upon a rustic 
seat by the side of Armand, and wiped his 
forehead. 

“ Whew!” he sighed; “ I have been trotting 
about all the morning. Ah! my friend, work 
is a great thing ; it consoles one for all. 
After Madeleine left I felt lonely, the house 
seemed vacant and the solitude oppressed me. 
AVell, I laid out work for myself. I have 
hewed and hacked like a laborer, and lo! my 
sadness is gone. You see me as lively as 
usual. By the way, you have been to La 
Varenne?” 

“ Pierre and I passed a part of yesterday 
there. I bring you news of your sister and 
niece.” 

“Mine. Eparvier is well, I suppose? And 


172 


MADELEINE EPARVXER, 


our two lovers, they saw each other, and every- 
thing is settled, is it not? Tell me of the 
dear children, my friend ; you know how much 
my heart is with them!” cried Prosper in a 
softened voice. 

44 1 hope that all is going well,” replied 
Debierne, encouraged by this happy augury. 
44 Your sister received Pierre with great kind- 
ness; the young people love each other, and, if 
nothing happens to ruin the program, I shall 
have the satisfaction of having given to my 
ward the most charming woman of my ac- 
quaintance.” 

44 We shall have made two happy ones!” 
declaimed Prosper, waving his outstretched 
arms. 44 We can sing* Hymen , hymence! It 
is not because my niece is concerned, but I 
declare, your ward has had good taste in at- 
taching himself to Madeleine. As the poet 
says: 

4 Choose a virgin blooming 
Among the roses of Sharon.’ 

He has been to seek his bride among the lovely 
gardens of La Varenne, and he has gathered 
her, as a wild rose, with a delicate woody per- 


MADELEINE EFARVIER. 


173 


fume. Ah! my friend, when a young man 
and woman feel themselves drawn together and 
exchange their vows, without taking thought 
of the prosaic realities of life, and without 
bowing down before the golden calf, what a 
touching picture. We, my friend, we have 
never tasted the pure joys of conjugal love; we 
have lived selfishly in solitude, but we shall at 
least see, in our declining years, our adopted 
children building their love nest, and much 
will be pardoned us, because we have contrib- 
uted to their happiness. Poetry aside, this 
marriage will have the general approbation. I 
have spoken of it — discreetly, you know — to 
some of our friends of Tours, and I have re- 
ceived nothing but congratulations.” 

“You have been in something of a hurry, 
it seems to me,” murmured Debierne uneasily. 

“Why so? The children love each other. 
The parents are willing. Under these condi- 
tions a marriage is as good as concluded.” 

“ Not entirely,” prudently objected M. De- 
bierne; “in Madeleine’s interest, I beg you to 
be more reserved. To make use of a compar- 
ison, which will please you, I will say that a 


174 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


projected marriage is like a well-prepared 
vineyard, but whose crop may be annihilated 
by a hailstorm or a mildew. As long as the 
vintage is not in the cellar, we cannot sing 
victory. Until the candidates have come be- 
fore the notary, it is not well to talk much of 
it.” 

“Yes, when there are questions of money 
to settle; but in what concerns us, we are all 
agreed. Madeleine has no fortune, and your 
ward will marry her because he loves her. 
That is very simple. There can be no possi- 
ble hitch.” 

“You know perfectly,” added Armand in 
an almost choking voice, “ that Mine. Eparvier 
cannot at present dower her daughter; but 
you, my friend, you who are rich and a bach- 
elor, can you do nothing for Madeleine?” 

“I!” 

With a singular grimace La Jugie ad- 
justed his glasses and gazed attentively at his 
arbor. 

“Hang the luck!” he exclaimed, “there is 
a whole band of hornets about to pounce upon 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


175 


my finest grapes; pshaw, pshaw!” His sacks 
in hand he nimbly climbed his ladder and left 
Debierne open-mouthed. 

The cunning, good man was in the habit of 
using similar ruses when pushed to the wall, 
that he might find time to prepare a response. 
While chasing away the greedy insects and 
enclosing some of the threatened clusters in 
the sacks, he was thinking: 

“Here we are at last. I am going to get a 
glimpse of this golden-tongued ward. He has 
played the role of disinterested to wheedle us, 
and now when he has gained Madeleine’s 
heart he sets his guardian at my heels. He 
feels confident that the uncle will untie his 
purse strings — a moment, Bertrand! They 
don’t take an old bird like me with chaff. I 
will give them tit for tat.” 

Prosper had never pardoned Lamblin for 
rendering abortive his toast at the Bambert 
wedding, and he was not sorry to have his re- 
venge. Feeling sure that Pierre was really in 
love, and that things had gone so far, that the 
young man could not honestly disengage him- 


176 


MADELEINE EPAKVIEK. 


self, he felt a malignant joy in thinking he was 
going to disappoint the hopes of the fiance , 
and render him ridiculous. 

“ The damage is repaired,” he said, as he 
came down from the ladder, and again seated 
himself by the side of Debierne. “ You were 
saying — ? ” 

“ I was asking if, on the occasion of a mar- 
riage which gladdens us both, and about which 
you were talking a moment ago, with a just 
enthusiasm, you did not intend to dower your 
niece in advance of her inheritance.” 

“Hoity, toity ! ” 

Prosper pulled his hat over his forehead, 
took off his glasses, crossed his hands over his 
jacket, and slowly choosing his words, he com- 
menced : 

“ My old friend, you know my principles. 
As a poet, as a philosopher, I am for love, pure 
and disinterested. This love, the only true 
variety, is nourished on its own substance; its 
fire, like that of the goddess Yesta, is to be kept 
alive only by pure hands, and it appears to me 
that calculations of sordid interest should not 
cast their icy waters on this holy flame. For 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


177 


my part, as you know I care little for the vile 
dross, money. We both belong to an epoch 
when money had not yet usurped the place of 
enthusiasm, and I have remained a man of that 
time. To me money is straw — straw. It is 
not then because I am fond of my dollars that 
I feel myself forced to respond negatively to 
your formal demand. No, my answer is dic- 
tated by higher and more philosophical con- 
siderations.” 

Satisfied with his exordium, Prosper paused 
a moment to note its effect upon liis auditor. 
He had only one regret — that Pierre Lam- 
blin was not there to hear also. It would 
have been an inexpressible pleasure to have 
thrust, through skin and flesh, each one of 
those sharpened sentences, like so many iron- 
ical needles. 

“ I like the English method,” he continued, 
passing his hand over his eloquent lips, “ no 
dowry to the girls. Where that is the case, they 
can be sure that they are married out of pure 
affection. The wife ought to be in the 
home, like a delicate flower, rich only in her 
beauty ; the husband ought to labor to 
12 


178 


MADELEINE EPAKVIEft. 


make this flower bloom and fructify at pleas- 
ure.” 

With an inspired air, he pointed to two 
goldfinches, which were skipping about upon 
the lower branches of an acacia. 

“See the birds! they build their own nest, 
and contrive to line it with moss and hair, and 
to upholster it with wool; love makes them 
industrious and artistic; they construct mar- 
vellously comfortable homes, and neither un- 
cles nor fathers come to their aid. Disinter- 
ested unions make large families and prosper- 
ous countries. You will not contradict me, for 
I have heard you, a hundred times, deplore 
the way in which modern marriages are patched 
up.” 

Debierne could find nothing to say in reply. 
At heart he was of the same opinion ; often in- 
deed, in their familiar talks, he had taken the 
same position, and declared the mania for 
making rich marriages was the principal cause 
of the decay of the modern bourgeoisie. He 
now only listened, shaking his chin with a 
reflective air. 

“That is why,” concluded La Jugie victo- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


179 


riously, “I have determined not to spend a sou 
for my niece’s establishment. As my grand- 
mother used to say, 4 the more one gives, the 
less one has.’ Too generous uncles make un- 
grateful nephews. I prefer to keep and 
increase my patrimony. When the two mar- 
ried people get it after my death — may that 
be as late as possible — their future will 
already have been assured. That fortune will 
come to them as an addition, and they will be 
the more thankful to me for it. That is sound, 
is it not? Persuade your ward not to revive 
this question, for he will lose his time.” 

Debierne, a little mortified at being force 
to receive, point blank, this categorical refusal, 
remained silent, his brow corrugated, his gaze 
lost in vacancy. 

“Have you nothing to say?” pursued M. 
de La Jugie. “ One would think that you 
were angry, and that you thought me in the 
wrong.” 

“ On the contrary, I think as you do, and 
I find your reasons unanswerable. Only, my 
dear friend, we are dreamers, we old fellows. 
The young people of to-day have less generous 


180 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


ideas — more prosaic — and I am afraid my 
ward — ” 

“ Your ward? would lie presume to bargain 
for my niece?” 

“No, no,” Debierne hastened to protest. “He 
does not know I have taken this step. I have 
come to see you of my own accord. I thought 
that you, not having the same reasons as Mme. 
Eparvier has, for keeping all your capital, 
might be glad to give this mark of friendship 
to Madeleine, and thus smooth away the diffi- 
culties which these children will encounter 
on their entrance upon married life.” 

“My dear friend, when are the difficulties 
of life triumphed over if not in youth. I want 
to leave to them all the merit of victory. Let 
us talk no more about it. Now do look at 
those cursed wasps returning to the charge. 
It is time that I return to my work. You will 
permit me, my old friend?” 

Again he climbed his step-ladder and De- 
bierne rose and took his leave. 

“ Good bye! ” cried Prosper. “ When your 
ward goes to La Varenne send my best em- 
braces to Madeleine, I am certain he will 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


181 


acquit himself of the commission admir- 
ably.” 

Perched upon the topmost steps of the 
ladder, opposite the trellis, the good man could 
not repress a satisfied smile; then he resumed 
humming his familiar air passing each grape 
in review. 

“ In the sack!” he hummed, as he succes- 
sively introduced the golden bunches, one aftei 
another, into their shirts of horse hair. He 
was thinking. “ This business of Lamblin is 
also in the sack, and I am out of it in better 
shape than I supposed was possible. Mon 
Dieu, if the young man had pleased me, I 
might have been capable of adding thirty 
thousand francs to the wedding presents. But 
to throw my money away on a coxcomb 
who mocks me, and thinks me vieux jeii like 
Lamartine — . Thanks, there is no hurry. 
He is smitten with Madeleine and will marry 
her all the same and I will save ten thousand 
crowns. Ha! ha! that is ‘modern’ enough, 
to speak the language of this conceited toast- 
maker! ” 


182 


MADELEINE EPABVIEE. 


xn. 

Pierre Lamblin awaited the return of his 
guardian impatiently. He had slept badly, 
and, contrary to his custom, had risen early. 
After accompanying Debierne to the gate of 
the Hermitage, he had installed himself in the 
library of La Fleurance and had opened a book 
to kill time, but his feverish anxiety would not 
permit him to become interested in what he 
was reading. He mechanically skimmed over 
a page or two, then closed the book and walked 
across the spacious apartment whose windows 
afforded a view of the garden, flooded with 
sunlight. The jasmines and clematis, which 
covered the wall, sent their penetrating fra- 
grance into the room, but he was insensible to 
the blooms and perfumes of this glorious 
August morning. His thought was elsewhere. 
It wandered from the rural orchard of La 
Yarenne to this old house of the Hermitage, 
where Debierne was in conference with La 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


183 


Jugie. What would Prosper say in response? 
And if his answer were negative, what course 
should he take ? What pretext should be in- 
vented to break an engagement which the 
Eparvier family already considered as defi- 
nitely settled. 

Pierre again saw Madeleine seated under 
the mulberry, and saying to him with an almost 
malicious smile: “Oh! my uncle Prosper, I do 
not put any confidence in his promises!” 
And indeed the young girl who was intelligent, 
ought to know La Jugie perfectly. Lamblin, 
on thinking over it, began to fear he had been 
duped by this false good man. “I have acted 
like a school boy,” he thought, “ I have gone 
into the campaign on the faith of an air bubble. 
I ought to have distrusted the sentimental 
exaggerations of this tiresome Prosper. De- 
cidedly I am younger and simpler than I sup- 
posed.” 

He pitied himself and at the same time a se- 
cret bitterness, something like regret, mingled 
with remorse, filled his heart. In spite of his 
egotism, he was not yet sufficiently armored with 
insensibility, not yet sufficiently “ modern,” 


184 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


not to experience a feelling of tenderness in re- 
calling the delighful hours passed near this 
young girl, so confiding and so sincere. He 
could not help experiencing a sentiment of 
shame and discomfort in thinking of the un- 
merited pain, of the cruel wound that he would 
inflict upon this child, if he saw himself 
obliged to come to a rupture with her. Alas! 
in despite of this revolt of his sensibility, in 
spite of this secret sting of remorse, he had 
already outlined, in his mind, the abandonment 
of Madeleine. The simple fact that he foresaw 
the possibility of a rupture, demonstrated too 
clearly that, the opportunity offering itself, he 
would not hesitate to put to the torture this 
young heart which had given itself so frankly 
to him. 

Nevertheless, the mere presentiment of this 
disloyalty troubled him. He understood too well 
the ignominious indelicacy of it, not to wish ar- 
dently for a solution which would spare him this 
lamentable denouement. The terror he felt at 
the prospect of being reduced to such an extrem- 
ity augmented his fever still more. Pale, his 
eyes shining, his hands trembling with a nervous 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


185 


impatience, he went and came, with a measured 
step, now and then stopping suddenly, atten- 
tive to the least noise. Every time the gate 
shut, he imagined that he saw Armand De- 
bierne entering. His heart beat violently. 
His expectations deceived, he began again 
disappointedly to tramp to and fro across the 
library. He asked himself how his guardian 
could employ so much time, and he began to 
have a feeling of irritation against him, accus- 
ing him of indifference or mal-address, when 
suddenly Debierne appeared in the doorway. 

“Well,” murmured Pierre in an anxious 
voice. “You have seen M. de La Jugie?” 

“ I have just left him,” replied his guardian 
tranquilly. “ My dear child, I owe you an 
apology. I was deceived. Prosper has posi- 
tively declared to me that he will not dower 
his niece.” 

Pierre did not wince, but he felt his mouth 
suddenly becoming dry. He regretted the 
uncertainties he had felt a moment before. It 
seemed to him that, up to this moment, there 
had been no doubt of the liberal intentions of 
La Jugie, and that the words of Armand alone 


186 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


liad struck a blow at his hopes. His halluci- 
nation went so far as to render the latter re- 
sponsible for this bitter deception. The calm- 
ness with which Debierne had announced this 
news to him, increased his exasperation, and 
he contemplated his guardian with an un- 
friendly look. 

“Besides,” pursued Armand, “La Jugie 
has the firm intention of leaving all his for- 
tune to Madeleine at his death, but this event 
is probably not near, and as the proverb says, 
‘we must not wait for dead men’s shoes;’ con- 
sequently, my friend, we must resign ourselves 
to simply marrying an accomplished young 
girl. The species is so rare that you will 
have no reason to complain — ” 

“You think so?” replied Lamblin sarcas- 
tically. 

“ You love her, as she loves you. A mutu- 
al love is worth all the treasures of the earth.” 

“ They say that in the romances, but all 
the same, we must live, and I ask, how shall 
we do it?” 

“ Parbleu! You’ll have to work. Nothing 
gives force like the necessity of assuring the 


MADELEINE EPAIiVIER. 


187 


happiness of the woman you love. You are 
young, gifted, and moreover, are not without re- 
sources. You will live at La Joubardi&re, where 
you will find bed and board and when, besides 
that, you have an income of five thousand francs, 
you will not die of hunger.” 

“ Your point of view has singularly changed ; 
the other day you estimated that for a bachelor 
that was at most a modest competence; but 
you see I should live there with a wife who 
will need toilettes, and with children whose 
little mouths must be filled.” 

“ I repeat to you that with your mental cul- 
ture and talents, you will easily double your 
revenue. As to your children, they will have 
a little later the inheritance of Prosper and 
also mine, for I intend to make you my heir. 
That will be the reserve for the future, and 
you will work while awaiting it.” 

“Wait! Always wait. That is your rem- 
edy for everything,” replied Pierre sharply. 
“ For my part, I haven’t time to wait. I am 
ambitious and impatient. I wish to enjoy 
while I am young, that which makes life worth 
living — power, luxury and fortune.” 


188 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“You reason like a pagan.” 

“And you like an idealist and a sentimen- 
talist.” 

“ I am proud of it. It is because I was an 
idealist and a sentimentalist, that I silently 
cherished your mother, and watched over you, 
over your interests, over your fortune, during 
the last eight years of your youth.” 

“Is that a reproach to you?” interrupted 
Lamblin with bitterness. 

“No, my friend. I have given you my 
care and my time with joy, because I loved 
you, and in turn you should be happy to work 
for your wife because you love her.” 

“My wife! I am not yet married.” 

Armand Debierne started, and looking 
severely at his ward : 

“What do you mean? Would you on any 
account hesitate to fulfill your engagement? 
Yes, or no. Do you love Madeleine?” 

“ It is precisely because she is dear to me 
that I want time to reflect. A wife has need 
of luxury and comforts. I do not want Made- 
leine to suffer throughout a life, pinched and 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


189 


full of cares, nor that, when it is too late, she 
should repent haying married me.” 

“ But, unfortunate boy, do you not know, 
that if this young girl loves you, she will suf- 
fer a thousand times more cruelly when she 
sees herself abandoned by the man upon whom 
she has placed all her affections? ” 

“ She would be melancholy during a week 
— a month, perhaps — then she would resign 
herself to it. That would be better than a 
whole life of privations, recriminations and 
regrets.” 

“Stop; you are revolting. You should 
have acted upon these old man’s reasons before 
arousing the confidence of that child; you have 
mocked her and me. When you asked me to 
help you in arranging this marriage, I con- 
sented because I thought you sincerely in 
love. I see too late that instead of a heart 
you have a calculating machine.” 

“ That is possible. But to marry a woman, 
is to engage to render her happy, and the man 
who marries without knowing how great a load 
his shoulders will carry, is at once imprudent 


190 


MADELEINE EPARVIEH. 


and dishonest. That is my opinion. You will 
doubtless consider it commonplace, but I am 
not romantic.” 

“No, you are an egotist! Know only that 
if you violate your vow and sacrifice Madeleine 
to your selfishness, you strike a mortal blow at 
our friendship. I leave you to your reflections. 
I still hope that your better sentiments will 
prevail, and that you will hesitate before com- 
mitting a villainy. Good day!” 

Debier ne departed indignant. Pierre went 
up to his room, irritated and nervous, dressed 
rapidly and went out. He needed to walk and 
relax his nerves in the open air. 

“A villainy!” It was a hard word, but 
within him a still, small voice cried that it was 
deserved. Certain generous scruples which 
belong to youth, can not be smothered at once. 
While repeating to himself that life is not a 
romance, and that in order to make one’s way 
in the world one must begin by getting rid of 
the sentimental illusions which hinder his pro- 
gress, Pierre did not succeed in driving the 
attractive image of Madeleine from his mind. 
He seemed to see her limpid and sincere gaze 


MADELEINE EPARVIEIi. 


191 


turned toward him with a poignant expression 
of sadness. It would cost him dear to fall in 
the estimation of that loyal soul, and to incur 
her contempt when she should learn for what 
miserable motives he had abandoned her. This 
thought caused him a moral nausea, which 
little by little became insupportable, and which 
he strove to dissipate by seeking excuses for 
his conduct. 

Having from infancy received much more 
than he had given, this spoiled child was 
naturally inclined to subordinate the person- 
ality of others to his oavh and to consider the 
duties which social life imposes, as so many 
trammels upon his liberty. 

“ In fine,” he reasoned, “ can I renounce 
my political career, to condemn myself to the 
obscure and home-loving existence of a coun- 
try gentleman? In marrying a poor girl, I 
sacrifice all my tastes and aspirations. I con- 
demn myself to the mean, niggard life of a 
bourgeois, which is repungant to my nature. 
I know myself. I shall soon tire of it. I 
shall regret my sacrifice, and I shall render 
existence odious to her for whom I shall have 


192 


MADELEINE EPARVIEB. 


immolated myself. She will suffer. I shall be 
unhappy, and our children will bear the weight 
of our common sorrows. Is it not a hundred 
times preferable to break off at once, a mar- 
riage, the consequences of which would be 
disastrous?” Thus occupied in self-question- 
ings, he had arrived at Tours and walked the 
length of the Rue Royal. In passing the 
Hotel du Faisan, he noticed the interior of the 
dining room with its round tables, on which 
the covers were already laid, and he remem- 
bered that he had not breakfasted. In spite of 
his disquieting preoccupation he felt the pangs 
of hunger. He entered the restaurant and 
ordered some eggs, a cutlet and a cup of 
tea. 

Whilst he was eating in solitude, the coming 
and going of the waiters and th 3 faces of the 
diners distracted his thought for a moment. 
Not far from him sat a young English couple 
who were taking breakfast and with it a bottle 
of champagne. The husband, hardly thirty 
years of age, had a fresh pink and white com- 
plexion and was dressed in faultless taste; a 
turned down collar, a white cravat and a suit of 


MADELEINE EPARYIEll. 


193 


cheviot. He was very attentive to his young 
wife, who was pretty, aristocratic looking and 
dressed in a fresh spring toilette. This couple 
who still appeared to be in the beginning of 
the honeymoon, had the happy air of knowing 
how to live. In their unconscious attitudes, 
their tender bursts of laughter, their disdainful 
indifference for all which did not immediately 
concern them, there could be divined a large 
and easy existence, the habit of comfort, the 
refined elegance of patricians, to whom fortune 
has denied nothing. Pierre examined them 
with an envious eye. His aspirations as a man 
who wishes to enjoy life largely were awakened, 
and smothered his last scruples. No, decidedly, 
he could not renounce, for purely sentimental 
reasons, the satisfaction of that need of luxury 
and prosperity which was as indispensable to 
him as breads He could not resign himself to 
poverty, and he would conquer his place in the 
world. But to do that, he must have his arms 
free and must enter the strife disengaged from 
the impedimenta of a marriage relation filled 
with cares and sordid wants. When he rose 
from the table and again found himself in the 
13 


194 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


street, he no longer hesitated to break his en- 
gagement with Madeleine. The only difficulty 
which remained was to find a colorable pretext 
for this rupture. He must preserve his repu- 
tation as a man of honor, and he was anxious 
not to have his backward step attributed purely 
to an interested motive. “ They must not” he 
thought, “ be able to accuse me of breaking my 
word on the very day wdien I learned that 
Mile. Eparvier w T ould not have a dower. I 
must find a pretext outside of the question of 
money, one which will spare my dignity and 
which will lessen, at least in form, my wrong 
toward the young girl.” 

But though he piqued himself on being in- 
ventive, he rummaged in vain in his brain. 
He could not discover that ingenious pretext 
which should save appearances. 

While he was walking along with his head 
down, his reverie was broken by a stamping of 
horses and the sudden stoppage of an equipage 
on the other side of the street, before a large 
fashion store. He lifted his eyes mechanically 
and perceived in a landau, an elegantly dressed 
lady who, by smile and gesture, signalled him 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


195 


to approach. He recognized Mme. des Yo- 
clines. Suddenly lie had a inspiration, and, 
even before he had crossed the street, he felt 
the sought for pretext spring full fledged into 
his brain. 

Madeleine knew of his flirtation with Mme. 
des Yoclines; she had spoken to him about it 
at the time of their last conversation at La 
Varenne, and he had seen that she was a little 
jealous on account of it. It was this jealous 
suspicion which must be exploited to furnish 
the motive for a rupture. If she were to learn 
that he had begun again to flirt openly with 
this coquette, the proud Madeleine would be 
the first to break off the engagement. Even 
supposing that she would not take the initia- 
tive, he might ascribe his failure to keep his 
word, to a return of tenderness for Clairette des 
Yoclines. The world, always disposed to be 
scandalized by a rupture brought about by 
misunderstandings as to money, would be full 
of indulgence for a treason of which passion was 
the excuse. It would say that Pierre had 
allowed himself to be caught in the net of a 
pretty woman; it would pity Madeleine, but it 


196 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


would plead extenuating circumstances in favor 
of the unfaithful and weak-willed lover. 

Lamblin had rapidly passed all this in re- 
view while crossing the street. As he ap- 
proached the landau Mme. des Yoclines, with 
a simper and a coquettish glance of the eye, 
which she meant to be effective, thus apostro- 
phized him. 

“Bad, ungrateful boy, come here and let 
me scold you! Is this the way you keep your 
promises? Do you know I have been expect- 
ing your visit for fifteen days? Confess now 
that you have totally forgotten me!” 

Pierre with an amiable smile upon his lips 
feebly defended himself, — he had been 
obliged in the first place to visit his guardian 
for several days and then an important work 
had absorbed him. 

“Not enough to hinder you from taking 
breakfast at the Hermitage with the Ram- 
berts, ” replied Clairette maliciously. “ It is 
true the attraction there was the beautiful eyes 
of Mile. Eparvier. You see that I know all.” 

“I swear to you” protested Pierre “that I 
intended to visit you to-morrow.” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


197 


“Oh! oaths cost you nothing; that is well 
known! But first enter the carriage with me; 
you can confess better in the landau than in 
the middle of the street.” 

He obeyed, seated himself near the lady, 
and while the carriage rolled slowly along the 
street, he took the hand of Clairette. 

“Am I pardonec^V ” he murmured with his 
coaxing voice. 

“Hum! I do' not know whether I ought 
to give you my hand. You have much to do 
to expiate your sins.” 

“ Impose upon me a penance.” 

“ I take you at your word. If you wis|j 
absolution, come to Orfrasi&re.” 

“ The penance is very easy. However, per- 
mit me — ” 

“No evasions! You are my prisoner, and 
I shall take you away. Besides, you will not 
be bored at my house. You will find there 
the Grandclos and the sub -prefect of Bodies, 
who will be enchanted to recommend you to 
your future constituency. It is agreed that 
you will go, is it not?” 

Pierre objected feebly that he had not ad- 


198 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


vised his guardian of this step, and moreover, 
that he could not decently present himself at 
Orfrasi&re in his morning dress. 

“ Do not let so little a matter trouble you,” 
replied Clairette. “ Once at the Chateau, you 
can write a line to M. Debierne. Firmin will 
take it to him this afternoon, and bring back 
your valise. Say yes, immediately, or I will 
never see you again in my life!” 

“ You are irresistible,” murmured Pierre, 
raising her hand to his lips. 

“Very well, then. Firmin, drive to Orfra- 
si&re, and quickly!” 

The landau drove off at a brisk trot and 
soon disappeared in the Avenue de Grammont, 
in the midst of a whirlwind of golden dust. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


199 


XIII. 

The cloud which, at the departure of Pierre, 
had thrown its shadow of anxiety over the 
happiness of Madeleine, lifted as quickly as it 
came. It vanished like those fogs of summer, 
which evaporate in the heat of the noon-day 
sun. This causeless anxiety could not resist 
the warmth of the young girl’s loving heart, 
and Mile. Eparvier again abandoned herself 
entirely to the joy which comes of having 
gained the love of the only man who had 
seriously occupied her heart. She now had 
the certainty of possessing that love which 
she had so long considered as an intangible 
chimera, and still dazzled by this unexpected 
good fortune, she knew not by what actions to 
thank her destiny. Lamblin had, with a few 
magic words, caused the springs of affection, 
• which were imprisoned in the heart of Made- 
leine like the sources of a sealed well, to gush 
forth, and the young girl listened with rav- 


200 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


ished ears to the boiling of these waters, so 
freely poured out. She generously gave Pierre 
the credit for this tenderness, which emanated 
from herself alone, and she believed she was 
passionately loved because she loved passion- 
ately. 

During the first days she was entirely hap- 
py. She enjoyed this felicity which appears 
to be complete because it is made up of hopes 
still undeceived and sensations not yet blunted. 
The joy which one experiences in anticipation, 
of an event, is without alloy, because this an- 
ticipation can be made up of beautiful dreams, 
and one can imagine that the morrow will 
realize them. 

The first drop of bitterness was shed upon this 
happiness by Mme. Eparvier. The widow, always 
busy and always dissatisfied with herself, bore 
the contentment of others with difficulty. The 
happiness of her neighbor seemed to her to 
be enjoyed to her detriment, and she liked 
to recall happy people to a more exact appre- 
ciation of the miseries of this world, by ming- 
ling, charitably, a little vinegar with their 
milk. She belonged to the category of those 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


201 


unlucky fairies who delight to announce bad 
news. Seeing Madeleine coming and going 
through the house, with a light step and a 
radiant face, she put on a softly complaining 
air and said, sadly shaking her head: 

“You seem happy — so much the better! 
At your age it does not take much to be con- 
tent; however, do not let your head be turned 
and do not sing too loudly, for fear you will 
have to sing another tune later on. My poor 
girl, do not be too openly jubilant. It is not 
becoming, in the first place, and then you run 
the risk of giving to your intended a too high 
opinion of his worth. He is already sufficiently 
disposed to think himself irresistible. Be- 
tween us, this gentleman appears to be a little 
infatuated with himself, and I do not think he 
will be in any hurry to profit by the permis- 
sion I have accorded him to visit you. He 
has already had time to return to La Varenne, 
or at least to send you flowers. That would 
have been the case in my time, and if the 
fashion has changed, so much the worse for it. 

To escape the malign influence of these 
vexatious suggestions, Madeleine hastily left 


202 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


the house and took refuge in the shade of the 
old mulberry, the confidante of her joys and 
sorrows. In spite of her faith in Pierre, she 
confessed to herself that she had expected to 
see him at La Yarenne the day before. It was 
not more than two leagues from her mother’s 
house to La Fleurance ; to a lover this distance 
was easy to overcome, especially when that 
lover had a good horse at his disposal. 

Madeleine found, however, ingenious rea- 
sons for excusing Pierre. His tardiness was 
no doubt due to his delicate scruples: since 
their engagment had not been officially 
announced to the friends of the family, he had, 
no doubt, thought it would be more decorous 
to make his first visits not too frequent. No 
matter, she would have liked better to have 
him less discreet and formal. Without credit- 
ing the insinuations of Mine Eparvier, she felt 
within her own mind a growing anxiety. 

It was Sunday when Debierne had brought 
his ward to La Yarenne. Though it was now 
the following Friday, nothing had been heard 
from young Lamblin. The next day being 
grain market day for the people of Tours, 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


203 


Mme. Eparvier, constantly busied with her 
own affairs, started for the city, early in the 
morning, with her foreman. She had wheat to 
sell and did not expect to return until after- 
noon. Left alone, Madeleine hurried through 
her breakfast and went to her favorite seat 
under the mulberry tree with her work-basket. 

“ If Pierre should be inspired to visit me 
to-day,” she thought, “ we can talk quietly 
without the intervention of a third party. 
Who knows? This idea may occur to him. 
Uncle Prosper has told him that Mamma often 
goes away on Saturdays, and he may have put 
off his visit in order to find me alone. It is 
not flattering to Mamma, but I will pretend 
not to notice it. It is five whole days since he 
took breakfast with us and he certainly does 
not want to wait until Sunday. Yes, some- 
thing tells me I shall see him to-day. ” 

At the least noise she raised her head and 
listened attentively for the sound of a horse’s 
hoofs. In the lonely rustic orchard, the 
silence was interrupted only by the industrious 
buzzing of the flies which had been attracted 
around the crushed mulberries. In the dis- 


204 


MADELEINE EPABVIER. 


tance, in the level stretch of the fields, blind- 
ingly white in the glare of the mid-day sun, 
there was no sound, unless it might be the 
heavy rumbling of a cart, rolling along the 
road, bordered by gnarled elms. 

Suddenly Madeleine started. Her hearing 
sharpened by her feverish waiting, took note 
of the sound of steps coming along the stone- 
paved path — then the creaking of the hinges 
of the outer gate. There was no longer any 
doubt, this time; it was surely Pierre who had 
walked, and who was entering the court. The 
young girl rose with a start and went hur- 
riedly toward the house. 

It was not Pierre but a letter from him, 
brought by a messenger. As soon as she 
glanced at the superscription, Madeleine re- 
cognized the small, clear, but irregular hand- 
writing with which she had been struck when 
she read the verses of the philopoena. The 
letter was addressed to “Mile. Eparvier.” 
While she turned over the envelope with a 
trembling hand, in order to tear it open at the 
fold, her heart beat painfully — on a blue band 
around the seal, she read “L’Orfrasi&re, par 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


205 


Jou& (Indre et Loire”). Orfrasi&re !” That was 
the name of the chateau of Mine, des Yoclines. 
Pierre was writing to her from the house of 
that woman with whom he had flirted, on the 
day of the Rambert wedding! Immediately 
Madeleine had the presentiment of a disaster. 
She had a ringing in her ears, and it seemed to 
her that she could hear the edifice of her hap- 
piness crumbling into ruins. Pale, with cold 
hands and throbbing temples,, she returned 
to her seat under the mulberry and opened the 
letter. The address of the chateau of Orfra- 
si&re was engraved anew on the corner of the 
oblong bit of vellum, from which there exhaled 
a feminine odor of heliotrope. 

“ Dear Madeleine,” wrote Pierre. 64 Pardon 
me for sending this note instead of coming 
myself to La Varenne to bring my excuses. 
But life is so made up that our dearest dreams 
are sometimes suddenly dissipated by a capri- 
cious divinity. In my case this capricious 
sprite is politics. It has pitilessly overturned 
all my projects of happiness, by reminding me 
that once enrolled under its flag I have no 
right to desert on the field of battle. If I had 


206 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


taken counsel of my heart only, I would have 
renounced a career which I have been prepar- 
ing for years to follow, but which now has, in 
my eyes, the cruel disadvantage of separating 
me from' you, for — • alas ! — an indefinite time. 
Unfortunately, the imperious laws which govern 
the struggle for life command me to face the 
future, and, before all else, to conquer a place 
which will permit me, later, if there be yet 
time, to renew the beautiful dream now inter- 
rupted. My only remorse is that I did not 
warn you of this. I ought to have confessed 
to you frankly the necessity I am in, of acting 
directly contrary to my inclinations and sen- 
timents. I ought to have spared you the 
bitterness of disappointed hopes. But how 
could I do this when I was held captive by a 
charm which raised me above commonplace 
realities? I was myself the victim of an illu- 
sion, but I forgot that I took the risk of 
deceiving you in thus deceiving myself. I have 
been rashly guilty and I acknowledge it with 
bowed head. My guardian, to whom I have 
written, asking him to go to see you, will tell 
you how much I suffer for having been so 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


207 


insincere with, you and with myself. He will 
enlighten you more completely as to the cir- 
cumstances which have dragged me, in spite of 
myself, out of the road in which I would have 
loved to walk sweetly by your side; he will 
explain to you the seemingly illogical reason 
w r hich has obliged me to leave you, though I 
love you, and which gives to my conduct the 
appearance of an odious treason. Will you 
ever pardon me, Madeleine, for this apparent 
infidelity which, in reality, is only the heart- 
breaking powerlessness of struggling against 
the unforeseen in life? Something tells me 
that you will be offended and inflexible. That 
will be justice, but whether clement or im- 
placable, I shall never forget you. I shall 
cherish preciously your memory — pure and 
poetic — and 1 shall be under obligations to 
you for having given me a glimpse of the real 
image I ha/ve formed of an ideal fiancee. Your 
memory will come like a melancholy guest to 
sit in each of my sad resting-places; it will 
console me for human failures, and if I succeed 
in becoming somebody, it will be because I 


208 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


have been impelled to it by the desire of one 
day being worthy of you. 

Pi ee re Lamblin.” 

The first time, Madeleine read through a 
mist, these labored phrases, where even the 
signature was disguised in an affectation of 
vague sadness. The blow was too severe ; her 
suffering was so keen that she could not at 
first appreciate the full meaning of this note, 
the lines of which danced before her eyes. 
She understood one thing only; — the letter 
had been written at Orfrasi^re; Pierre had 
sacrificed her to Mine, des Yoclines. — Thus, 
from the first moment, the subterfuge planned 
by Lamblin was entirely successful, since it 
influenced Mile. Eparvier to believe that this 
rupture had for its motive a passionate attach- 
ment for Mine, des Yoclines, rather than a 
mere question of money. Little by little, the 
disorder produced in the mind of the young 
girl, by this un looked for disaster, gave way to 
a grief more bitterly lucid. She read the cruel 
note over again. In all its skillfully turned 
sentences there was not a single word which 
had a frank sound, not a single accent which 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


209 


came from the heart. Pierre, to tell the truth, 
had not dared to bid her a definite adieu. He 
left open the question of an eventual return, 
but this hypocritical ambiguity appeared more 
cruel to Madeleine than a brutal dismissal. It 
was revolting to her sincerity, it poisoned her 
wound by adding to unfaithfulness an offensive 
indelicacy. How could he have believed that, 
after reading this letter written at Mme. des 
Yoclines’, Madeleine would be weak enough to 
hope for a reconciliation and to still esteem a 
man who abandoned her to satisfy a caprice? 
What opinion had he of her character and of 
her heart? With a movement of indignant 
pride, she tore Lamblin’s note into small frag- 
ments and threw the pieces into an old well, 
half choked with brambles and weeds. Why 
could she not also drown, in the greenish water 
of the old well, the memory of that love so 
freely given by her, and so outrageously 
spurned by Pierre. But while at the dim 
bottom of the reservoir, the last tatters of the 
letter disappeared beneath the slime, she felt, 
with a sense of desolation, that her love was 
obstinately swimming in her heart. She 
U 


210 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


thought, in spite of herself, of the sweet vows 
exchanged at the Hermitage, of the enchant- 
ment in which she had lived for eight days, 
and, believing that her existence would here- 
after be empty and miserable, she remained 
kneeling at the edge of the well, her arms 
hanging listlessly at her side, without energy 
to rise and without the consolation of being 
able to weep. 

She was aroused from her torpor by the 
voice of Mme. Eparvier. The widow had just 
returned and standing on the perron, she was 
calling her daughter with a voice at once im- 
perious and fretful. Madeleine rose with diffi- 
culty and tried to resume her habitual calm- 
ness. She knew how little she could rely 
upon the sympathy of Mme. Eparvier, and she 
was resolved to conceal, for the present, the 
blow she had received, unless the change in 
her countenance should betray her. 

She found her mother in a state of excite- 
ment which did not permit her to take note 
of the sufferings of others 

'‘Well!” she said, as soon as she saw the 
young girl. “ I have heard some fine news at 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


211 


Tours! I met the Ramberts and they ex- 
plained to me the reason of the unseemly 
silence of M. Lamblin. Do you know where 
this gentleman is passing his days while you 
mope about here waiting for his visit? He is 
at L’Orfrasi&re, at Mine, des Yoclines’, a bold- 
faced huzzy with whom he is smitten! ” 

Madeleine could not help starting pain- 
fully — so the disloyal conduct of Pierre was 
already known to the public, and she so un- 
sophisticated, yet so proud, saw herself a prey 
to the gossip and humiliating commiserations 
of the indifferent! All dissimulation was use- 
less now and to shorten, at least, painful ex- 
planations, she thought it best to answer coldly : 

“ I knew it.” 

44 What! you knew it!” exclaimed Mme. 
Eparvier, gasping for breath, 44 and you said 
nothing to me about it? You stand there as 
cool as ice and are not even indignant? ” 

44 Wliy should I be indignant?” replied 
Madeleine. 44 If what they say is true, all the 
odium falls upon M. Lamblin. It is he who is 
to be pitied, and not we who have nothing with 
which to reproach ourselves.” 


212 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“You are a philosopher, it would appear. 
But if such affronts do not touch you, they 
wound me terribly. I do not intend that a 
coxcomb of this variety shall amuse himself at 
the expense of a respectable family like ours, 
and I am going to write M. Debierne to give 
him a good scolding.” 

“ Mamma,” declared Madeleine in a firm 
tone, “you shall not do that. M. Debierne is 
not responsible for the fickleness of his ward. 
I am certain that if he knows of his conduct, 
he suffers more than we do oh account of 
it, and I do not wish to pain by unjust re- 
proaches, a man who has always been good to 
me.” 

“Indeed! ” groaned Mme. Eparvier sourly, 
“ you will permit your mother to be insulted 
and you full of excuses for strangers. Oh! 
how unfortunate I am. I have no chance in 
anything and everything turns against me. 
That Prosper — I was sure he would commit 
some folly from the moment he mingled in our 
affairs. You will let me write to him at least! 
He must go to M. Debierne and learn from 
him whether or not M. Lamblin intends to 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


213 


keep his word. We can not remain any longer 
in this equivocal position.” 

At heart Mme. Eparvier, in the midst of 
her lamentations, could not admit that the 
marriage of her daughter w T as irreparably 
broken off. She flattered herself with the hope 
that Pierre’s infidelity had been maliciously 
exaggerated, and she counted on the intervan- 
tion of M. Debierne to mend all. Her uncer- 
tainty was not of long duration, for in the 
midst of her complaining, a servant announced 
that M. Debierne was at the door and wished 
to know if the ladies could receive him. 

“Show him in!” cried the widow, whose 
face lost its sorrowful expression and took in- 
stead a look of solemn dignity. 

Arm and was shown into the parlor ; but the 
moment he appeared his attitude left no doubt 
as to the unlucky character of the news he 
brought. His visage was a picture of con- 
sternation. 

“ Ladies,” he said, “ I have come to per- 
form a painful duty. The dreams I have formed 
for the establishment of my ward cannot be 
realized because of circumstances beyond my 


214 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


control. I am profoundly afflicted on account 
of it, and I pray you personally to receive my 
most humble and sorrowful excuses. For me 
it is a cruel deception which I cannot believe 
is real. I still hope that it will only amount 
to a delay always to be regretted — ” 

Mme. Eparvier opened her mouth to reply, 
but Madeleine boldly interrupted. 

“ Sir,” she said, advancing toward Debeirne, 
“I do not know what the intentions of your 
ward may be ; as to me, my resolution is taken. 
Be good enough to say to M. Lamblin that I 
release him from his engagement and that he 
is absolutely free.” 

This declaration, so spontaneous' and so 
categorical, confused Mme. Eparvier. At the 
same time that it took away all hope of an ac- 
commodation, it rendered discussion useless and 
deprived her of the satisfaction of indulging 
in recriminations. 

“ I abstain,” she cried angrily, “ from 
qualifying, as it deserves, the deplorable con- 
duct of your ward. Since my daughter has 
taken it upon herself to announce her resolu- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


215 


tion, I have nothing to add. Your servant, 
sir! ” 

Furious not to have been consulted, she 
opened the door violently and disappeared. 


216 


MADELEINE EPAEYIEB* 


xiy. 

This brusque exit disconcerted Debierne. 
He looked at Madeleine, as if to demand an 
explanation, and was struck with her changed 
appearance. Her lips were compressed and 
white, her eyes were dry and sad. Before this 
tragic despair, the heart of Armand Debierne 
was stirred to a tender pity. Having suffered 
in his youth from the same malady, he under- 
stood better than another the ravages caused 
in this virgin soul by the uprooting of her 
dearest illusions. He would have liked to find 
words of a magic, consolatory power to soothe 
this grief, but he knew by experience that the 
words of a friend, even, are powerless to assuage 
the pains of love, and that in trying to pour 
balm upon a wound there is risk of making the 
smart more intense. 

Nevertheless, he approached the young girl 
and, taking her cold hand in his — . 

“ Madeleine,” he murmured, “ you are 
suffering.” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


217 


“ Do not mind me,” she replied, shaking her 
head. 

“ My poor child,” he insisted, “I should be 
sorry to be importunate; but permit me to 
repeat how much I regret what has happened. 
I am the involuntary cause of your first great 
grief, and I shall never pardon myself for having 
made you suffer by a maladroitness on my part.” 

While he was endeavoring to testify his 
regrets as delicately as possible, he was, with- 
out knowing it, causing Madeleine a keener 
pain by irritating her pride, which had already 
been made to suffer so cruelly. 

“ No,” she protested, “ you have nothing 
with which to reproach yourself. I forgot 
myself for a moment. I thought I was loved 
and I was mistaken, and I ought to blame my- 
self for what has happened.” 

“ The conduct of Pierre is scandalous,” 
cried Debierne impetuously. “ He affected, in 
speaking of you, so warm a feeling that I my- 
self was completely deceived. Could I sup- 
pose that a love about which he was talking to 
me all the time could cool before a miserable 
question of money ? ” 


218 


MADELEINE EPARVIER, 


“What is it yon say?” asked Madeleine, 
fixing upon Debierne her eyes, dilated with a 
sorrowful surprise. 

“ I was saying that the fashions of the pres- 
ent generation revolt me. What a sad epoch 
it is when young men, well endowed, like 
Pierre, dare not marry the woman they love 
solely because she has no dowry.” 

“ So,” she answered, in an altered voice, 
“it is to my poverty alone that I must attrib- 
ute the conduct of your ward?” 

“Alas!” responded Debierne, ingenuously, 
“it is for this pitiful motive that he has left 
you, and brought this trouble upon us. Did 
you suppose there could be other motives?” 

“Yes,” she replied sarcastically, “it was 
said that Mme. des Yoclines had turned his 
head, and I was simple enough to believe it. I 
prefer the reason you give me; it is less mor- 
tifying to my self-respect and leaves fewer 
regrets. Oh! God,” she murmured, seating 
herself and burying her face in her hands, “ and 
I loved him! What shame!” 

This exclamation which burst almost in- 
voluntarily from Madeleine’s lips, so manifestly 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


219 


gave the lie to the ironical satisfaction she had 
expressed at first, that it threw Debierne into 
consternation. He now understood that he 
had committed a stupid blunder, and that in 
revealing to Mile. Eparvier the interested cal- 
culations of Pierre, he had taken from the 
abandoned girl her last illusion. Vexed and 
contrite at having a second time wounded this 
adorable girl, he bent affectionately over her: 

“ Dear Madeleine,” he said, “ I feel that my 
words exasperate instead of mitigating your 
sorrow. However, I want you to know that in 
me you have a devoted, though maladroit 
friend. I do not wish to be indiscreet, and so 
I shall take my leave.” 

“Yes,” she stammered, without removing 
her hands from her face, “ I know that you 
are good. But leave me now, please.” 

Debierne left the house sore at heart. 
When she heard the heavy outer door slam 
behind him, Madeleine rose and left the par- 
lor. She did not care to submit anew to the 
recriminations of her mother, and she fled to 
the garden, under the mulberry, her ordinary 
refuge. There, she hoped, no one would come 


220 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


to disturb her. She could weep at her ease, 
when the tears, which were choking her, should 
at last spring to her eyes. 

But the tears would not come. Despair 
tightened its grasp upon her breast like a band 
of iron, and stifled her sobs. After haying 
the evening before thanked heaven for her 
happiness, she now judged herself the most 
miserable of creatures. She was filled with 
anger, when she thought how credulous she 
had been. Pierre had paid her court, only 
because he hoped to make a rich marriage; 
and she, with her need of self-devotion and 
her pure imagination, had not even suspected 
him of lying. He had played for her a com- 
edy of love, coldly — what was .still more 
humiliating — in response to a pure sensual 
fancy. This thought suffocated her. The red 
mounted to her cheeks at the memory of their 
conversations, the melting looks which they 
had cast upon each other, the hands tightly 
clasped, and the kisses she had received. To 
a girl properly brought up and pure, as Mad- 
eleine was, these favors, accorded to a man who 
did not really love her, were equivalent to a 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


221 


contamination. She felt that she was polluted 
forever, by the caresses, the disturbing sensa- 
tion of which came back to her now like a 
remorse. While she was allowing him to kiss 
her eyes, and was murmuring tender words 
to him, Pierre was calculating the amount of 
her dowry, and once convinced that his intend- 
ed was poor, he hastened to abandon her. To 
conceal his true motive from her whom he was 
mocking, he had had the hardihood to date his 
letter of farewell from the house of Mine, des 
Yoclines, thus adding an indelicacy to a dis- 
loyalty. And this was the hero of her single 
romance of youth; the man to whom she had 
ingenuously opened the treasures of her heart. 

Her lips curled with a feeling of bitter dis- 
gust. She was tired of herself and the world. 
She could see in the future of her life nothing 
but a series of days, dull, disenchanted, going 
on and on, pell mell, without reason and with- 
out aim. 

The humming of the bees around the mul- 
berry tree was like an ironical accompaniment 
to these bitter reflections. Absorbed in the 
melancholy contemplation of all her hopes and 


222 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


dreams, she no longer had eyes for the exte- 
rior world. She did not notice that the after- 
noon was drawing to a close, and that the de- 
scending sun was gilding in magnificent colors 
the elms and clumps of roses. Indifferent to 
the young girl’s grief, the roses were blooming 
more fragrant than ever ; the doves were quit- 
ting the cool tops of the walnuts and were trav- 
ersing, with a melancholy whirr of wings, the 
garden, drunken with the rich warm sunlight. 
In this radiant peace of evening a firm, manly 
step rang on the gravel of the walk. Madeleine 
started, lifted her head, and recognized Mar- 
tial Metivier, who was coming toward the spot 
where she sat in the shade of the old mulberry. 
In the state of mind in which she was, this 
visit surprised her painfully, and she was 
tempted to avoid it. But Martial had doubt- 
less seen her. She dared not go away, and, 
making a violent effort to conceal her trouble, 
she remained motionless under the tree. 

A few seconds more and Martial was at her 
side. 

He was out of breath with his rapid walk- 
ing, and this, added to a secret emotion, gave 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


223 


to his bearing something of awkwardness and 
constraint. 

“Mademoiselle,” he stammered, by way of 
saluting Madeleine, “pardon me for disturbing 
you. I knew you were in the garden, and I 
took the liberty to come here to find you, at 
the risk of being indiscreet.” 

While speaking, he placed with care, upon 
the rustic bench, an object which he was car- 
rying under his arm — an object of oblong 
form, wrapped in an old newspaper. 

“ Good evening, Martial,” responded Mile. 
Eparvier, with a forced smile upon her pale 
lips; “ I would not like to accuse you of indis-' 
cretion, for you rarely come to La Varenne. 
We have not seen each other, I think, since — 
since — ” 

“ Since the Rambert wedding,” added Mar- 
tial. 

This memory, innocently evoked, brought a 
train of melancholy ideas to Madeleine’s mind. 
Her face changed again, and so visibly that 
the young man, struck with her pallor, added: 

“You have not been sick since that time, 
Mademoiselle Madeleine?” 


224 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“ No, Martial, I am well. But let us speak 
of yourself. Are you pleased with your situa- 
tion?” 

“ Thank you, everything is as I would like 
it; we have been so busy at the shop, that I 
have not been able to come sooner. But to- 
day, being Saturday, I quit work earlier and 
resolved to pass my Sunday at the farm. Be- 
sides, I wanted to bring you a specimen of my 
work.” 

He took the object he had placed on the 
bench and removed the wrapper. 

“ I heard over yonder,” he went on, blush- 
ing, “ some news which decided me to hasten. 
Excuse me if I do not explain my meaning 
well. I do not know how to turn a compli- 
ment, but the trifle you see here will express 
the wishes I have formed for your happiness.” 

“I— I do not understand,” murmured 
Madeleine feebly. 

“It is my jirst serious work,” said Martial, 
presenting to her the jardiniere which had 
so much excited the cupidity of Lamblin. 
“ They say it is a success, and it belongs to 
you by right — to you, who always encouraged 






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I PRAY YOU TO ACCEPT IT AS MY WEDDING GIFT.” PAGE 225. 








MADELEINE EPARYIEIi. 


225 


me. I pray you to accept it as my wedding 
present.” 

Madeleine’s face became rigid as marble. 

“Did they tell you I was engaged?” she 
interrupted in a low voice. 

“Yes, mademoiselle, I heard your future 
marriage spoken of and — ” 

“They told you wrongly; I am not to be 
married.” 

“Is it possible?” he cried, almost joyously. 
His face was suddenly illuminated, but at the 
same moment, in looking at Madeleine, he saw 
by the wonderful change in her features, that 
some great tragedy had taken place in the 
young girl’s soul. 

“ Pardon me! ” he faltered. Then he ceased 
speaking. An embarrassing silence reigned 
beneath the mulberry, in the shadow of which 
the jardiniere displayed its grace of form and' 
the harmony of its coloring. 

Madeleine, seeing Martial’s embarrassment, 
and not wishing to pain him, again mastered 
her feelings. 

“No,” she repeated, “it is not a question 
of marriage with me. But I am none the less 
15 


226 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


ihankful to you for your kind thoughts, Mar- 
tial, and I accept your gift. You can afford 
me no greater pleasure than to give me your 
first work.” 

She took the flower stand on her knees and 
examined it carefully. Art has such a magic 
power, that the admiration she felt in looking 
at the beautiful thing, deadened for a moment 
the pangs of her grief. 

“It is very handsome!” she declared. 
“You will become an artist, Martial.” 

“God grant it,” he replied; “ I would like 
to be.” 

“ When one is endowed as you are, one can 
become what he wishes. Ah!” she sighed, 
“ you are fortunate in being able to absorb 
yourself in an occupation you like. Work 
hinders us from seeing the ugliness and misery 
of the world. Truly, I envy you.” 

He looked at her, her emotion visible in 
every accent of her voice, and felt a tender 
compassion for that hidden sorrow, which 
vibrated like an echo through her brief sen- 
tences. He divined and reconstructed for him- 
self Madeleine’s melancholy story. This Pierre 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


227 


Lamblin, whom he hated at first sight, had no 
doubt been culpable of some rascally act, and 
the projected marriage had become impossible. 
Mile. Eparvier had loved Armand Debierne’s 
ward; she had taken for a sincere passion, 
what was only a caprice, a semblance of love, 
and this fop had broken her heart. The idea 
of this marriage broken off, secretly rejoiced 
Martial’s heart, but at the same time the sight 
of Madeleine’s pale face made something come 
in his throat, and he hated himself for feeling 
this cruel joy. 

Mile. Eparvier had again become silent and 
distraite. She remained motionless, her hands 
clasped around the jardiniere on her lap, her 
eyes fixed on vacancy. Martial felt that he 
ought to respect this dumb sorrow, and that, 
at such a moment, his presence was inoppor- 
tune. 

“Mademoiselle Madeleine,” he said, “I am 
glad that my pottery pleases you, and I will 
try to do better still. I will leave you now to 
go and embrace my father, who does not ex- 
pect me and to whom my visit will be a great 
surprise. I will come to see you another time.” 


228 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


Saddened, yet less oppressed than at his 
arrival, the young man went toward his father’s 
house. Madeleine listened to the sound of his 
steps as they grew fainter in the distance, and 
looked pensively at the jardiniere, the decora- 
tions of which were lighted up by the setting 
sun. This handsome thing seemed, in its 
flower-like form, to burst into bloom like a 
symbol of the brilliant future reserved for the 
artist. Madeleine thought how he had offered 
it to her as a wedding present, at the very hour 
when her dreams lay broken upon the earth; 
when her youth, now without aim, was vowing 
itself to solitude. Her breast heaved, tears 
suddenly came to her eyes, and rolled down 
her pale cheeks and wet the shining enamel of 
the jardiniere, which alone had had the power 
to unseal the fountain of tears in this girl’s 
desolate heart. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


229 


XV. 

Time passes whether we laugh or weep. 
Silent ancl regular, the seconds fall into eter- 
nity without a care for those impatient ones 
who would like to hurry their flight, or for 
those happy ones who would like to retard it. 
Since Madeleine’s engagement had been 
broken, five years had elapsed, and, toward the 
close of September, 1889, all the personages 
who were present at the marriage of Nancy 
Rambert, were again assembled at Rocliettes, 
but this time for a very different ceremony. 

Mme. Sidonie Rambert had just succumbed 
to a disease of the liver. Under the awning 
of the perron, where once a chorus of congratu- 
lations greeted the young married people on 
their return from the church, the body lay in 
state. Among the sable hangings of mourning, 
the lighted candles and floral wreaths, the bier 
of the departed was placed, between two sisters 
who were busy telling their beads. The 


230 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


friends of the family, after sprinkling the pall 
with holy water, put on an appropriate funeral 
mien, and went into the large parlor where 
Evariste Rambert, with his son and son-in-law, 
stood rigidly, with their backs to the fire-place. 

The good man Rambert had the depressed 
and sorrowful attitude which is appropriate to 
so recent a bereavement. Nevertheless, the 
mechanical manner with which he grasped the 
hands of the newcomers, the nodding of the 
head, the imperceptible shrug of the shoulders 
with which he received their effusive con- 
dolences, were rather the index of a philoso- 
phic resignation than of an inconsolable grief. 
While holding his handkerchief to his eyes, 
which remained obstinately dry, Evariste ac- 
knowledged to himself that the disappearance 
of his despotic better-half did not grieve him 
so much as he would like to make his friends 
believe. The good lady had exercised around 
her, notably upon him, a tiresome domination. 
She reduced her husband to a humiliating 
position, and annihilated his personality with- 
out any remorse. M. Rambert was conscious 
of a confused sensation of relief ; he reflected, 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


231 


not without satisfaction, that hereafter he 
would speak and act as he liked. He would, 
in the future, have elbow-room, so to speak; 
the free disposition of his patrimony, and 
even a part of his wife’s. This perspective of 
future ease, glimpsed through the ceremonious 
trappings of woe, sensibly soothed his sor- 
row. There was one harassing circumstance — 
the necessity of telling his son and son-in- 
law that Sidonie had left to him by will, all 
her disposable property. 

These two latter indeed, were not looking 
for this liberality, so sedulously concealed from 
them; knowing the poor opinion Mme. Ram- 
bert had always had of the capacity of her 
husband, they counted upon the sole succes- 
sion to the important property of the deceased, 
and while they responded to the salutations 
and condolences of those present, each of them 
was mentally calculating his share of the 
inheritance. 

Marcel, w T itli his head bowed and eyes half 
closed, was leaning with his elbows on the 
mantel-piece, seemingly crushed beneath the 
weight of a fatality which could not be com- 


232 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


batted. His beard had grown and he wore it 
trimmed to a point, and his hair was long. 
He was very thin and he tried to give himself 
the air of a man who had exhausted every 
experience in life. He had- been to Paris, 
where his father sent him to study law, and 
where, for two years, his principal occupation 
had been to write decadent verses and sign 
I. O. U.’s. He had established a periodical, the 
“ Pree Art,” whose offices were situated on the 
left bank of the Seine. There, the artists held 
high carnival, instituting the bases of the new, 
and tearing down the idols of the old litera- 
ture. So, while Marcel seemed plunged in a 
sorrowful meditation, he was thinking that the 
maternal inheritance would come just in the 
nick of time to stop the importunities of his 
creditors, and to satisfy the paper merchant 
who was threatening to levy upon the unfor- 
tunate review. 

At the other corner of the fire-place, Raoul 
de Laire, elegant, grave and correct in style, 
was also a prey to reflections no less disin- 
terested. His housekeeping expenses were 
very heavy, and the dowry w T hich Nancy had 


MADELEINE EEPARVIER. 


233 


brought* him was more than half eaten up. 
These two young people had entered conjugal 
life with a robust appetite for pleasure. The 
amusements of Paris in the winter, and the 
visits to the watering-places, or sea-side resorts 
in the summer, had soon dissipated the modest 
revenues of the young household. The 
toilettes of Nancy alone, more than absorbed 
the interest of her dowry. They lived on a 
scale of fifty thousand francs a year, and their 
income was hardly twenty thousand. Then 
they had attacked their capital and now they 
were finishing the scraps which remained. 
While bowing over his irreproachable cravat, 
and while extending the tips of his gloved 
fingers to his friends, the handsome Eaoul was 
asking himself whether Nancy would get, as 
her share of the inheritance, a sum equivalent 
to the dowry. This preoccupation shadowed 
his delicate features and his blue eyes with a 
melancholy which was edifying to the last 
degree in a son-in-law. 

In the parlor, where the drawn blinds main- 
tained a dim religious light, and where the 
thick carpet muffled the sounds of footsteps, 


234 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


the numerous relations of the Ramberts 
gathered. The men only entered here; the 
women, according to custom, occupied an ad- 
joining room, and gathered around Nancy and 
her mother-in-law. However, the silence in 
the men’s parlor was suddenly broken by the 
rustling of skirts, and all faces turned toward 
the door. Cutting her way boldly through the 
masculine throng, Mme. des Yoclines, in full 
mourning, rushed up to M. Rambert, whom she 
embraced with effusion, calling him “poor 
friend;” then, after giving her hand to Raoul 
and Marcel, she regained the parlor reserved 
for the ladies. She had been a widow for sev- 
eral months, M. des Yoclines having amiably 
surprised her by succumbing to a stroke of 
apoplexy. Directly behind her appeared Pierre 
Lamblin, his monocle in his eye, and dressed 
in a black frock coat which fitted him admirably. 
His handsome face always had the same expres- 
sion of foppishness, but his attitude was more 
conciliatory, his manner less disdainful, and 
the ease with which he distributed his saluta- 
tions, indicated a man preoccupied in the 
search for popularity. He was, in fact, "begin- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


235 


ning to realize liis programme of an ambitious 
aspirant for political glory. Thanks to the 
patronage of Clairette cles Yoclines, he had be- 
come councillor-general, and he was seriously 
spoken of as the successor of the present 
deputy for the arondi$s.eme7it of Loches, who 
had ceased to be popular. On entering the 
parlor, Pierre met Armand Debierne. The lat- 
ter saluted him coldly and pretended not to 
see the hand which his former ward held out 
to him. Debierne then went to embrace M. 
Rambert and remained half concealed in a cor- 
ner, while Lamblin took a more prominent 
position by the side of his friend Raoul de 
Laire. Another arrival appeared equally to 
ignore Pierre. Martial Metivier jostled him, 
on his way to salute the family, but affected 
not to know him. The former workman in the 
pottery of Portillon had also realized a portion 
of his dreams. At the exposition of 1889, his 
art pottery had caused a sensation. The 
journals vied with each other in praising the 
beauty and originality of the ceramic products 
of the young Touraine artist. Decorated with 
medals and orders, he now entered, with proud 


236 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


head, this house where, five years before, he had 
come furtively like an intruder. He no longer 
showed the timidity of that time, but, in his 
brusque step and in his unstudied dress, could 
be seen something of a plebeian rudeness. 
His face, browned by exposure to the air and 
sun, his open brow, his black, deep-set, pierc- 
ing eyes, the resolute and energetic lines of 
his face, all contrasted with the correctly com- 
monplace physiognomies of the most of the 
men who were pressing around M. Kambert. 

In his turn, Prosper de La Jugie appeared 
in the vestibule with his niece, Madeleine. 
Mme. Eparvier, busy as usual, had asked her 
daughter to represent her at the ceremony. 
After conducting Madeleine to Nancy, Prosper, 
with bowed head and arms hanging loosely by 
his sides, entered the parlor. The view of the 
mourning carriages, of the horses, caparisoned 
in black, and of the vestibule, transformed 
into a mortuary chamber, had stirred his ro- 
mantic imagination. In his poetic lucubra- 
tions, death always held a master place, and on 
this theme he was in the habit of executing 
ingenious variations. In this case, the sudden 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


237 


death of a neighbor, sentimental like himself, 
and with whom he had often exchanged hollow 
and sonorous phrases, appeared to him a rare 
occasion to open the sluice gates of his senti- 
mentality. He was one of those who have an 
obedient lachrymal gland, and already, in 
shaking the aspersoir over the bier, he had 
wiped a tear from his cheek. He approached 
M. Rambert slowly, then with a bound he 
sprang toward him, kissed him upon both 
cheeks, crying out in a loud voice: 

“My friend, she has returned to God!” 

A sob interrupted him, and he burst into 
tears, to the great astonishment of Rambert, who 
had been wiping his dry eyes since morning. 
This embarrassing demonstration w r as interrupt- 
ed by the master of ceremonies, who came to 
announce, with great pomp, “to the gentle- 
men of the family,” that the clergy had ar- 
rived. M. Rambert, his son and his son-in-law 
left the parlor, and with a heavy, trampling 
noise the invited guests followed into the ves- 
tibule and the garden. The church being 
close to Rocliettes, the journey was short. The 
nave was rapidly crowded with the family and 


238 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


tlieir friends. In tlie center, in the transept, 
the catafalque was placed between two rows of 
candles, with a pall spangled with silver, to 
represent tears, and strewn with fragrant 
flowers. Prosper was seated very near, just 
behind the family, and listened with close at- 
tention to the mass for the dead. The air had 
dried his tears and calmed his nervous system. 
He was now content to manifest his affliction 
by an attitude of great depression ; the corners 
of his mouth were drawn down, and his eyes 
veiled by one of his hands, upon which he 
leaned his bowed head. But between the 
epistle and the evangel, when the wailing sound 
of the organ alternated with the voices chant- 
ing the Dies Irce, he again felt himself shaken 
by an invincible emotion. The perfume of 
the floral wreaths, the scintillation of the 
funeral candles, the despairing notes of the 
music, wrought upon his sensibility, and sud- 
denly, in the silence which followed the final 
stanza, his sobs burst forth so noisily that the 
three members of the family turned around. 
Marcel shrugged his shoulders and M. Ram- 
bert, vexed at this grief, which so far exceeded 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


239 


liis own, darted an angry look at the hapless 
mourner. Prosper, absorbed in the manifes- 
tation of his theatrical woe, perceived noth- 
ing. 

He continued to wipe his tear-wet cheeks 
and to blow his nose in a plaintive manner, 
while his neighbors, elbowing each other, con- 
cealed their derisive smiles under their hats. 

The mass for the dead went on slowly. 
The absolution was recited, then the hearse 
received anew the bier and its floral decora- 
tions, and all set out toward the little cemetery 
of Saint- Cyr. This time the route was longer. 
The fresh air, the slow pace across the sunny 
country, insensibly affected those who accom- 
panied the deceased to her last resting-place. 
Faces lost their contrite solemnity; the diapa- 
son of the voices rose by several notes; people 
sought others of their acquaintance and began 
to converse. Among the groups different 
topics were introduced, and everything except 
the deceased was discussed. 

“Have you seen the handsome Mine, des 
Yoclines ? ” 

“Yes; do you not think she overdoes her 


240 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


mourning? Does she think she can make us 
believe that she regrets her husband?” 

“ No, it is only because black becomes her, 
and she knows it. And then, perhaps she 
wears mourning for her last lover! ” 

u Bah! Do you think it is finished with 
Lamblin ? ” 

“Parbleu! Now that she is widow, he 
would be obliged to marry her. Now, Mme. 
des Yoclines is more than three-fourths ruined, 
and Lamblin intends to marry rich. If he 
has not already dropped her, he will soon do 
so.” 

“It appears that he has quarreled with his 
guardian. Debierne will never pardon him 
for having refused Mile. Eparvier.” 

“Poor girl! I saw her at the church. 
She is very much changed.” 

“Dame! She has become an old maid and 
the idea of a long t&te-a-t&te with Mme. Epar- 
vier is not very exhilarating.” 

“ She is only twenty-five, and may yet 
marry.” 

“Hum! hum! It is known now that she 
was in love with Lamblin, and that La Jugie 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


241 


would not dower her. That will render a 
match difficult.” 

“ Debierne, who is so chivalrous, he ought 
to marry her.” 

“ However chivalrous he may be, he will 
not be foolish enough to take a wife twenty- 
five years younger than himself. No; do you 
know who it is she ought to marry? That 
young fellow you see there, walking, with his 
hands crossed behind his back, whose coat is 
full of wrinkles.” 

“Martial Metivier? Why, old Metivier is 
the under farmer at La Varenne.” 

“Yes; but the son has been decorated, and 
makes lots of money.” 

“ Mme. Eparvier will never give her con- 
sent. She has too profound a respect for 
social prejudices.” 

“She respects money still more. Well! 
here we are at the cemetery. After you, I 
pray.” 

When they came near to the quarter where 
the grave was situated, the faces of all again 
became sorrowful and voices were hushed to 
low monotones. In the midst of the white 
IQ 


242 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


tombs, scattered liere and tliere on the green 
sward, the conversation ceased. The melan- 
choly aspect of the enclosure, with the mounds 
designating the last resting places of the dead, 
the droning voice of the priest, who began to 
chant the burial service, wrought anew upon 
the nerves of M. de La Jugie, and brought on 
a new crisis of tears. With bared head, and 
hat clutched in one nervous hand, he made his 
way through the groups which barred his pas- 
sage until he reached the open grave, into 
which the coffin had just been lowered, and 
about which stood the members of the family 
in their attitudes of grief. With his free hand 
he shook a holy water sprinkler over the coffin. 
The tears again gushed from his eyes, and 
with a voice broken with sobs, and without 
noticing the increasing irritation of M. Lam- 
bert, he cried: 

“Poor friend, dear creature of God, we 
shall meet again in heaven.” 

He felt himself in a vein of eloquence, and 
would have continued longer in this tone, if 
Raoul de Laire, irritated by this too effusive 
show of grief, had not drawn him aside, 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


243 


“Are yon mad, monsieur?” murmured the 
young man, when they were alone. 

“Eli! what do you say?” 

“Do not you feel that this public display 
of your sorrow is displeasing to my father-in- 
law? If I did not feel a respect for your age, 
I would say it was indecent.” 

“Indecent! And why so?” stammered 
Prosper, stupefied. 

“ These sobs and tears on the part of a 
stranger might bear a malicious interpretation. 
Your unseasonable grief might give rise to a 
belief that you had been attached to the de- 
ceased by ties closer than those of mere 
neighborliness. Do you understand me now ? ” 

“ Fie, monsieur,” protested La Jugie, scan- 
dalized. “My tears sprang from a pure 
source. My regrets are as disinterested as 
they are respectful.” 

“ Then they are simply ridiculous,” inter- 
rupted M. de Laire dryly, “ and we beg that 
you will keep them to yourself.” 

Thereupon he turned on his heel and joined 
M. Rambert, who was entering the mourning 
carriage with his son and daughter. 


244 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“ Decidedly,” thought La Jugie, choked 
with indignation, “ the youth of to-day has no 
conception of noble sentiments.” 

He was so astounded that he pushed his 
hat down over his eyes and left the cemetery, 
forgetting that he was charged with the duty 
of escorting his niece. 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


245 


XVI. 

On leaving the cemetery, the guests rapidly 
dispersed. In haste to return to their var- 
ious business affairs, they took leave of each 
other after brief salutations. A few loungers 
lingered about the gate, chatting and examin- 
ing curiously the faces and dresses of the 
ladies who had crowded up to the entrance. 
Pierre Lamblin was seen to refuse a place in 
Mme. des Yoclines’ coupe and to walk off with 
a light step, while the handsome widow, clos- 
ing the curtains nervously, gathered herself 
into one corner of the carriage, which went off 
at a lively trot. Martial Metivier remained a 
moment in the middle of the principal road, 
as if awaiting some one, then suddenly he 
crossed the route and disappeared by a short 
cut which led directly down to the Loire. 
Arm and Debierne remained, one of the last 
under the trees in the cemetery. 

At a bend of one of the paths he saw Made- 


246 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


leine Eparvier. The young girl was walking 
backward and forward through the clumps of 
trees and her wandering gaze seemed to be 
seeking something. 

“ Mademoiselle Madeleine,” said Debierne, 
bowing, “ your uncle has parted company with 
you.” 

“I am looking for him,” she answered, “but 
I am beginning to think he has forgotten me 
and that I may as well return to the Hermit- 
age without him.” 

“Permit me to take Prosper’s place; I can 
not allow you to return alone.” 

“ I thank you, monsieur — I should be sorry 
to delay you.” 

“You do not delay me, and I shall be glad 
to pass a few moments with you. Please take 
my arm.” 

She accepted, and for a few minutes they 
walked silently along the now solitary road. 
They were both a little embarrassed, hardly 
having seen each other for five years, and now 
being alone together for the first time since 
the sad afternoon when Armand Debierne had 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


247 


come to La Yarenne, to deplore tlie inexcusable 
conduct of his ward. 

Under the pale light of an autumn sun, 
Debierne rapidly studied Madeleine and found 
her much changed. Not that these last years 
had notably modified her features. She was 
still young and had preserved her girlish 
physiognomy of other days, but her cheeks 
were less round, the oval of her face was 
longer, her limpid eyes were veiled with melan- 
choly, and the smile on her lips told of vanished 
illusions. This vague imprint of sadness, 
light as the transparent haze of September, 
gave her, on the whole, a more penetrating 
charm, a more touching grace. 

“ You hardly ever come to the Hermitage 
now,” said Armand, breaking this embarrassing 
silence. “ Prosper complains of it, and I also.” 

“ My mother can not well get along with- 
out me,” she answered. “ And then I have 
become a liome-loving body. I feel a sort of 
lassitude, which keeps me in the house.” 

“ You have not been ill?” 

“Do you find me changed?” she asked, as 



248 MADELEINE EPAliVIEll. 

she surprised and interpreted the look of 
Armand, which was one of uneasy solicitude. 

“ Changed, no; but a little thinner and a 
little saddened.” 

“What would you expect?” she replied, 
with a shade of annoyance*. “ I have not 
much reason to be gay.” 

“Have I involuntarily hurt you?” asked 
Debierne. “If I have asked you an indis- 
creet question, it is not from vain curiosity, 
but from an affectionate interest which has im- 
pelled me. I feel that I am morally responsi- 
ble for your happiness in the future, having 
inflicted upon you unwittingly a great sorrow 
in the past.” 

“ I pray you do not speak either of me or 
the past, ” she interrupted, blushing slightly. 

“ On the contrary, let us talk of them,” he 
insisted softly. “ If you are not happy — if you 
have sorrow — and you have, as I can see in your 
eyes — why not confide them to me? It is a 
relief to be able to open one’s heart to a friend. 
And you know how much affection I have for 
you.” 

“ Yes, you have always been good. But 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


249 


my troubles are too miserable. I am tired of 
telling them to myself, and it would be pain- 
ful to me to tell them to strangers.” 

“Why do you treat me as a stranger? Is 
it because I was formerly the counsellor and 
friend of the man who has greviously offended 
you? Be assured then, for Pierre Lamblin 
and I have nothing in common, and I blame 
him more for his treason than you yourself.” 

“ He has become indifferent to me,” re- 
torted Madeleine with spirit. “ I blame no 
one but myself. I was foolishly credulous. I 
became attached to one who was indifferent to 
me, and allowed him to see my tenderness for 
him, which he mocked. I have been punished 
for it, for to-day, in the isolation in which I 
live, I am tired and disgusted with everything. 
I distrust myself and others, and I feel older 
than if I were sixty.” 

She had paused in her walk, humiliated at 
having allowed her lips to utter a complaint so 
long locked up in her own bosom. Armand 
w r as silent also, profoundly moved by the in- 
voluntary confession of this distressed soul. 
He was now more tenderly drawn toward 


250 


MADELEINE EPAUVIEB, 


Madeleine than ever. She was becoming 
dearer to him, and, feeling her hand tremble 
upon his arm, he was tempted to clasp her 
affectionately to his heart. 

They had reached a turn in the road. Be- 
tween two low walls could be seen in the sil- 
very light, the valley where the broad and 
sluggish Loire was spread out like a lake be- 
tween the levee of Saint-Cyr and the quays of 
Tours. A slight purple haze softened the out 
lines of the distant hills of Cher, before which 
the city was gracefully outspread with its tile 
roofs, its campaniles and the twin spires^of its 
cathedral. The blue smoke from the distant 
chimneys was wafted in long streamers by the 
autumn wind which at the same time, waved 
the rustling, golden hued poplars on the is- 
land and fitful catspaws dimpled the green 
waters of the river. This soft, autumnal land- 
scape had at times a suggestion of spring. In 
his thought, Debierne compared it to his 
own heart; always open, always enthusiastic 
and crossed at every moment by sudden re- 
turns of spring time. 

“Dear Madeleine,” he said, “I understand 


MADELEINE EPAEVIEE. 


251 


all you have suffered. I understand it the 
better, because at your age I had the same sen- 
sations of weariness and of disenchantment. 
But believe me when I say that in loving 
hearts like yours, youth has inexhaustible re- 
sources. It is like this beautiful sky of Tou- 
raine, which never remains long clouded, and 
which at all seasons soon recovers its adorable 
blue tints. There are many withered hearts in 
this world. Some day you will meet with a 
heart which is worthy of yours, which will 
beat in unison with yours, and at its contact 
you will feel your troubles disappearing like 
those clouds of smoke yonder, which the wind 
is chasing before it. You have paid your trib- 
ute young; life owes you a compensation and 
it will give it you.” 

Madeleine shook her head silently with an 
incredulous air, while her eyes grew moist. 
She turned away that he might not see her 
tears. She dared not speak, but Arm and no- 
ticed with delight that the pressure upon his 
arm had grown more confidential. When they 
reached the Hermitage gate he asked : 

“ Shall you stay sometime at your uncle’s? ” 


252 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“ No, I shall return to my mother to-mor- 
row morning. Good evening, Monsieur De- 
bierne, and thanks for your kindness.” 

“It is I who must thank you, my child. 
You will permit me to come to see you some- 
time at La Varenne, will you not?” 

“ Yes, come. It will be a pleasure to me. 
Good-bye Monsieur.” 

She gave him her hand and Armand re- 
turned to La Fleurance in a deep study. Dur- 
ing the remainder of the evening he was in a 
wonderfully distracted state of mind. Who- 
ever had entered his study that night would 
have surprised him planted before the great 
mirror at the end of the room, examining him- 
self with attention. The glass, lighted by a 
lamp from which he had removed the shade, 
showed him his thoughtful face, faithfully ren- 
dered, and he noticed with discontent the marks 
of advancing age which the passing years had 
left there like so many melancholy wrecks. 
His temples were bald; wrinkles furrowed his 
forehead and his hair and beard were decidedly 
grizzled. Yet his eyes had preserved their 
vivacious brightness ; the brows were still black 



“the glass lighted by a lamp from which he had removed the shade.” 

















































































/ 
































' 

















































































































' 























































MADELEINE EPARVIEK. 


253 


and his cheeks and eyelids had not undergone 
the withering effects of time, and his form re- 
mained straight and slender. In short, he had 
preserved his vigor and health and did not look 
his age. But how long do these appearances 
of youth last? Are they not like the dahlias 
of October, which on a bright day give the 
illusion of a summer bloom and which a single 
night of frost fades without hope of rejuvenes- 
cence. Armand went to bed a prey to these 
unaccustomed reflections. He slept but little, 
dreamed of Madeleine, and rose very early. 
As soon as he had finished dressing, he directed 
his steps toward the house of M. de La Jugie. 
Was it the effect of the first cool weather of 
autumn or the consequences of his sleepless 
night ? At all events, when he rang the bell at 
the door of the Hermitage he was so cold that 
he shivered. 

Debierne found Prosper m the back part of 
his wine-liouse, occupied in overseeing a work- 
man who was mending casks. 

“ Good morning,” cried La Jugie, whose 
chorister’s voice rose above the noise of the 
mallet upon the sounding staves; “you see we 


254 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


are not idle here! I am putting my barrels 
into shape, for the vintage will be large and 
we are not going to have too many casks to 
hold the wine of this year.” 

“ I would like to talk with you a moment,” 
said Armand, whose nerves were irritated by 
all this noise. “ Can you not give me an 
audience in some quieter spot?” 

Prosper took him out into the air under 
some trees which adjoined the wine-house. 

“We shall not be interrupted here,” he 
he said. “ I will listen to you, but be brief, for 
my good-for-nothing cooper will take advan- 
tage of my absence to stare at the flies.” 

“Has Madeleine gone?” asked Debierne, 
after a pause. 

“Yes, since dawn.” 

“I saw her at the funeral of poor Mme. 
Bambert yesterday — a sad ceremony.” 

La Jugie’s face clouded at the memory of 
the incident of the cemetery. 

“ Those ceremonies are always farcical,” he 
replied dryly. “ The good woman had been 
marked for death for a long time.” He now 
talked of the deceased with a disdainful indif- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


255 


ference. One would have thought to hear him 
speak that he bore her a grudge for his mis- 
adventure of the day before. 

“You talked with Madeleine?” 

“Yes, I brought her back to the Hermitage. 
Tell me, do you not think her much changed?” 

“ Changed? ” repeated Prosper, “ why, man 
alive, no! ” 

“ In that case, you have not noticed closely. 
She has dark circles around her eyes; her face 
is long and her cheeks pale. She is suffering, 
and her ailment is the graver because she 
struggles to conceal it.” 

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed La Jugie. 
“And what the deuce is she suffering with?” 

“She is tired of La Varenne.” 

“Ah! the society of my sister is not very 
amusing, but what of it? It is the fate of 
unmarried girls to stay at home with their 
mothers. Madeleine is reduced to that, thanks 
to the unqualifiable . conduct of your ward. 
When a girl has already missed one marriage, 
it becomes difficult to arrange for another, and 
I am afraid the poor thing will be an old 
maid,” 


256 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“I have said all that to myself,” answered 
Debierne gravely, “ and as I am the author of 
Madeleine’s sorrows, I have asked myself 
whether in justice I ought not to repair my 
ward’s fault.” 

“I do not exactly get your meaning; what 
kind of reparation can you offer my niece? 
Have you a new and more serious candidate to 
propose to her? ” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ Who, then? ” 

“ Myself.” 

“What!” cried Prosper, starting, “you 
want to marry her?” 

“Yes; and it is for this reason that I 
wanted to see you. Do you think a man of 
my age can be an acceptable husband ? ” 

“Hum!” ejaculated La Jugie. He was 
taken aback by Arm and’ s proposition, but in 
proportion as he thought about it, the expres- 
sion on his face passed from amazement to 
curiosity, and from curiosity to satisfaction. 
He thought that this unexpected solution 
would relieve his sister from a tremendous 
embarrassment, while at the same time it 


MADELEINE EPAnVlEIl. 


257 


would tranquillize his conscience, since he 
would no longer have to worry over his niece’s 
future. Debierne was rich, well connected, a 
man of high honor, and, on the whole, Made- 
leine would find that she had drawn a very 
valuable prize. 

“ You are a little time-worn,” he answered, 
raising his head, “ but, all in all, you have re- 
mained young in figure and character. No 
one would take you to be as old as you really 
are. Besides, Madeleine is a girl of sober 
sense, and does not attach importance to ap- 
pearances.” 

“ I know perfectly well,” replied Debierne, 
in a changed voice, “ that I have no right to 
exact a passionate love from a young girl, but 
I shall love her and shall endeavor to render 
her life happy. Do you think your niece 
could be induced to accept my proposition? ” 

“I think so,” replied Prosper. “Made- 
leine is a reasonable girl.” 

Reasonable ! The word sounded harshly in 
Arman d’s ears. It was hard to confess to 
himself that he had reached an age when he 
must base his marriage, not upon mutual love, 
17 


258 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


but upon cold considerations of reason. But 
he again saw, in imagination, Madeleine lean- 
ing upon his arm; he thought again of the 
pale and winning face of the young girl, and 
presumptuously allowed himself to hope he 
could touch her heart by dint of tenderness. 

“My friend,” pursued La Jugie, pressing 
Debierne’s hand, “ your generous offer is the 
prompting of a poetic and enthusiastic soul. 
With your permission I will loot over the 
ground. If, as I believe, my sister consents 
to second our efforts, you can yourself present 
your demand to Madeleine. I will give you 
before long Mme. Eparvier^s answer. Cour- 
age, my old friend ! Whatever comes of it, you 
have my admiration. I wish my cooper would 
put as much energy into his work of hooping 
my casks, as you show in facing the formida- 
ble question of marriage. Good-bye, until we 
meet again.” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


259 


XVII. 

Though Madeleine Eparvier lived a solitary 
life at La Varenne, her isolation was not so com- 
plete as Armand Debierne had supposed. At 
long intervals her solitude had been broken by 
visits from Martial Metivier. If she said nothing 
of this to Debierne, it was neither from indiffer- 
ence nor forgetfulness. In omitting this detail, 
she had obeyed a subtle scruple of delicacy. 
As she reproached herself for having former- 
ly too lightly received the advances of Pierre 
Lamblin, so now she experienced a secret 
embarrassment in speaking of the assiduous 
attentions which Martial was paying her at La 
Varenne. Debierne was ignorant of the ties 
of ancient comradeship existing between her 
and the farmer’s son, and all the modest pride 
of the young girl took fright at the thought 
that any one could suspect that she was re- 
ceiving the visits of this young man with a 
vague intention of coquetry. 


260 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


Nevertheless, she did not carry her self- 
abnegation so far as to forego these discreetly 
timed visits of the artist. Into the dull and 
uninteresting life she was leading at La 
Varenne the appearance of Martial threw at 
intervals a ray of gaiety. He came with his 
head full of half executed projects and new 
ideas about which he consulted Madeleine. He 
confided to her his hopes, showed her his de- 
signs and rough sketches, and she had the first 
specimen of each of his successes. Thanks to 
him, Mile. Eparvier had the chance to escape 
for a moment from the vulgar prison in which 
she was stifling and to rise into an intellectual 
atmosphere where she could, breathe more freely 
Each time he quitted her after one of these 
conversations, she felt less depressed, and it 
seemed to her that she could see a patch of 
blue in the low and leaden sky, which was 
crushing her to the earth. She again took up 
her daily duties with a feeling of less an- 
noyance and fatigue, and bore with more 
resignation the sour temper of her mother. 

The latter, in spite of her prejudices, had 
not, up to this point, paid the least attention 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


261 


to tlie visits of young Metivier. In her esti- 
mation, the distance between a La Jugie and a 
former potter’s apprentice was so great, that 
this intimacy could not become compromising. 
Bounded by her narrow and ignorant bourgeois 
notions, she had no very precise idea of Martial’s 
present position. In spite of his triumphs, 
to her he had remained the farmer’s son, the 
little boy in the blue blouse, who used to go to 
school, and afterwards to the pottery. She had 
all the disdain and distrust common to the bour- 
geoisie of the provinces for the artist. At 
the time when he had established himself at 
Saint-Symphorien she had severely blamed 
him for quitting the “certain for the uncer- 
tain.” His success at the exposition had not 
modified the widow’s views. When he was 
decorated she said it was his luck. In her 
heart, she gave little credit to a government 
which could recompense with the cross of the 
Legion of Honor the maker of useless and 
costly toys and gew-gaws. With all this, and 
by a contradiction easily enough understood, 
she felt a certain satisfaction in familiarly re- 
ceiving this young man who wore a red rib- 


262 


MADELEINE EPAKVIEE. 


bon in his button hole, and in scolding him 
as if he had been a shepherd boy in wooden 
shoes, charged with the duty of driving the 
sheep of La Varenne to pasture. Martial did 
not seem to notice this. Madeleine’s amiable 
welcome compensated for Mme. Eparvier’s dis- 
dainful airs. He affected even to treat the 
mother with increased deference, so thankful 
was he that she should tolerate his relations 
with the daughter. The condescension on the 
part of the widow lasted until the day when 
Prosper informed her of the matrimonial inten- 
tions of Armand Debierne. Then she sud- 
denly changed front and became suspicious. In 
reality, she had no more reason than before 
to believe, that Martial would be presumptuous 
enough to aspire to the hand of her daughter, 
but she suspected that these visits might dis- 
please Debierne, and so she determined to keep 
the young man at a distance. 

When, therefore, a few days after the 
funeral of Mme. Rambert the artist came to 
La Varenne, she received him with a frown- 
ing countenance. She was averse to having 
an explanation with the unfortunate young man 


MADELEINE EPARVIEE. 


263 


in the presence of Madeleine. She contented 
herself, therefore, with making a third with the 
two young people and of imposing upon them 
the infliction of her querulous conversation. 
She thought that in this way she would oblige 
Martial to shorten his visit, but she counted 
without her host. The latter seemed equally 
determined to have a private conversation 
with Madeleine and did not stir, hoping the 
widow would leave them alone. This equiv- 
ocal condition of things promised to last in- 
definitely, when the sound of carriage wheels 
was heard in the court. AVhile Martial was 
secretly hoping that this incident would com- 
pel Mine. Eparvier to quit the parlor, a ser- 
vant announced that M. Armand Debierne 
wished to see the ladies. 

“ Certainly,” responded the widow, whose 
face immediately lighted up, then turning 
toward Martial she added: “ My boy, M. De- 
bierne has a communication to make to us from 
my brother La Jugie, and I fancy that the 
presence of a stranger might embarrass him. 
Consequently I will keep you no longer. Au 
revoir ! ” 


264 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


As she ceased speaking, Debierne entered. 

Martial comprehended that he would have 
to renounce for that day all hope of a private 
talk with Madeleine. He bowed and retired, 
after darting a crest-fallen look at Madeleine. 

When he had gone, Mme. Eparvier, who had 
no longer the same motives for imposing her 
presence upon her new visitor, and who in- 
tended, on the contrary, to allow him to express 
himself freely, suddenly remembered that the 
workmen awaited her at the vineyard. 

“ Monsieur Debierne,” she said, accompany- 
ing her words with one of her sweetest smiles, 
“ I know you wish to talk with Madeleine. I 
leave you together and will take the liberty to 
return to my work.” 

She made him a courtesy and disappeared. 
When the door had closed, Armand remained 
a moment without the power of speech. His 
heart beat and his emotion was that of a young 
man who has found himself alone with his 
sweetheart for the first time. Madeleine, 
alarmed at his silence, scanned him with 
curious eyes and thought, “ What mystery has 
he to communicate to me?” 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


265 


“ Madeleine,” at last began Debierne, in a 
not very firm voice, “I see by your air that 
you do not know the motive of my visit. 
Permit me to apprize you of it, and promise 
that you will reply to my request with your 
ordinary sincerity.” 

“ Have you a service to ask of me, M. De- 
bierne? ” 

“A service? not precisely,” he answered 
with a melancholy smile, “a favor rather — a 
favor, the granting of which will render me 
very happy. But if you do not feel disposed 
to accord it, do not fear to wound me by a 
refusal. In answering me, consult only tho 
inclinations of your own heart.” 

“Mon Dieu! what can it be?” she cried, 
frightened by this preamble. 

“ I will explain in two words. It relates to 
an offer of marriage.” 

“ For me? ” 

“Yes, for you. I know that you are not 
happy. I have thought long about our talk in 
the cemetery road, and I have imagined that I 
might give back to you, if not the happiness 
you have lost, at least a calm and independent 


266 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


life, in case you consent to become my 
wife.” 

Bewildered, troubled, and having with much 
difficulty recovered from her violent surprise, 
Madeleine listened with dilated eyes to this un- 
expected proposition. Leaning upon the gar- 
net-velvet cover of the mantel, she nervously 
twisted the long fringes which formed part of 
the decoration. Deceived by the tone of her 
vis -d vis and also by the terms he had used, 
she imagined that Debierne, always chivalrous, 
was impelled by a sentiment of pity and her 
pride was hurt by it. 

“Monsieur Debierne,” she responded in- 
cisively, “you have an excellent heart and to- 
day you give me a new proof of it. I thank 
you, but I am sorry that your compassion for 
me should impose such a sacrifice upon you.” 

“ A sacrifice ! ” he cried, “ I have then poorly 
expressed myself, or you have not understood 
me correctly. It is not a question of compassion. 
It is a very different sentiment which attracts 
me to you. At my age, one is almost ridicu- 
lous in avowing such things, yet I must tell 
them to you, were it only to do away with all 


MADELEINE EPAHVIER. 


267 


misunderstanding. I have always liad an in- 
tense sympathy for you, but for some time this 
affection has changed into a more tender feel- 
ing. I find that I love you as if I were still a 
young man.” 

“You love me?” repeated Madeleine, with 
an artless and almost cruel astonishment. 

“Yes, you have re-awakened emotions and 
sensations which I thought had been forever 
buried, and in feeling a breath of youth stir 
again within me, I saw that I loved you.” 

She listened, her head bowed, her eyes wet, 
touched to the very heart by a filial gratitude 
for him who was talking thus, and at the same 
time pained by the thought that she must dis- 
courage this love so delicately offered. 

“Oh! Monsieur Debierne,” she sighed. 
Then she stopped, intimidated, unable to ex- 
press the contrary emotions which surged in 
her bosom. 

“I well know,” resumed Debierne, “that it 
would be an unwarrantable presumption, on my 
part, to ask of you a love equal to that I have 
for you, but if my heart has remained young 
and capable of loving, it will make no selfish 


268 


MADELEINE EPARVIEK. 


demands, and you will only "have to be happy 
to prove your affection. Now Madeleine, an- 
swer, do you consent to be my wife? ” 

She raised her head — he could see her 
limpid brown eyes, like two dew wet flowers 
— and in their depths could read his fate in 
advance. 

“Monsieur,” said she, “ I thank you, and I 
am profoundly touched. You have authorized 
me to speak frankly ? ” 

“ I ask it as a favor,” he answered, already 
half sobered. 

“ Well then, I pray you do not insist. Par- 
don me if I cause you pain. I have a respect- 
ful friendship for you, but I have always 
thought that when it was a question of mar- 
riage, something more was needed, and I 
fear — .” 

“ Do not finish,” interrupted Debierne 
sadly, “ I understand. Pardon me in my turn, 
if for a moment I have lost my head. You 
have made me see my error, cruelly, but 
honestly. Two ages as different as ours are 
uot easily paired. You are in the full flower 
of life. I am traveling down the decline, and 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


269 


I reason like an egotist when I wish to asso- 
ciate your spring-time with my autumn. You 
deserve better. Forget my folly and keep 
your friendship for me.” 

“ Oh! with all my heart,” she cried, holding 
out to him her hands. She added, blushing: 
“ Since we remain good friends permit me to 
ask a great favor. Mamma knows the motive 
of your visit, does not she ? ” 

“ Yes, she must have been notified by 
Prosper.” 

Madeleine hesitated a moment, then joining 
her hands prettily: 

“ Render me the service,” she murmured, 
“of leaving them both ignorant for some time 
to come of the answer I have given you, and 
come to the house as though nothing definite 
had happened. It is perhaps a deceit little 
worthy of you and of me; it is moreover a dis- 
agreeable task I am imposing upon you — but 
when my mother and my uncle know the truth 
I will be the object of cruel recriminations and 
I do not feel that I have the courage to bear 
them.” 

“Be assured,” replied Arm and, “that I will 


270 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


behave in such a way as to spare you all 
annoyance, dear child.” 

He drew her suddenly to him, quickly 
kissed her on the forehead and departed. 

, Left alone, Madeleine sat down in the 
darkest corner of the parlor. It seemed to her 
that she could better gather together her scat- 
tered thoughts in this obscurity. 

This unexpected step of Armand Debierne, 
after the first feeling of stupefaction had 
passed, moved her profoundly. In hearing 
this man of refined delicacy, of a loyalty above 
all suspicion declare that he loved her, Made- 
leine felt a flutter of peace and of returning 
youth. This joyous sensation was, it is true, 
marred by the fore-knowledge of the refusal 
she would be obliged to formulate. But while 
feeling a sense of sadness at having pained and 
mortified Armand, she now found once more 
in the depths of her being a sweet serenity 
taking the place of the distrust from which she 
had so long suffered. As she had confessed to 
Armand, on the road home from the cemetery, 
the miserable outcome of her only love had 


MADELEINE EPABVIEK. 


271 


disenchanted and sickened her. With her 
candor of soul, and her ignorance of life, she 
had exaggerated the gravity of the marks of 
affection, ingenuously given by her to the man 
whom she considered as her fiance. Ashamed 
of her mistake, she thought she had been pro- 
faned and would be obliged in conscience tp 
forever renounce being loved. This conviction, 
while it took away all her self-confidence, left 
at the bottom of her heart a bitter disgust and 
a mortal weariness of all things. 

Armand’s touching declaration, coming to 
surprise her in this moral disarray, produced 
the effect of a clap of thunder, which all at 
once purifies the air charged with unwhole- 
some vapors, and restores the luminous seren- 
ity of the blue sky. If, she reasoned, De- 
bierne, who knew the history of her first love 
exactly, wished nevertheless to marry her, it 
was because he judged her worthy of being 
loved. This proof of tenderness raised her in 
her own eyes from the degradation into which 
she had fallen. She now breathed more freely ; 
she felt relieved and fortified, and by a myste- 


272 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


rious association of ideas this reviving sense of 
security brought her thought back more vividly 
toward Martial Metivier. 

He, also, at the moment of Debierne’s ar- 
rival seemed on the point of making an avowal 
of some kind. He had gone awmy visibly dis- 
appointed, and Madeleine had read in his crest- 
fallen look a confused regret that he had not 
been able to open his heart. 

While the young girl was indulging for the 
first time without bitterness in this examina- 
tion of her conscience, the night had fallen and 
the parlor had grown dark. A door was softly 
held ajar. 

“ Madeleine, are you there,” asked the voice 
of Mme. Eparvier. 

“ Yes, mamma.” 

“Has M. Debierne been gone long?” 

“An hour ago.” 

“ Ah! what did you talk about? ” 

“About many things. The Hermitage, 
uncle Prosper — I can not tell what.” 

“Hum! And he said nothing more interest- 
ing than that? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Madeleine, at the same 


MADELEINE EPAEVIER. 


273 


blessing the darkness which allowed her to 
blush for this pious falsehood without danger 
of detection. 

“ That is singular.” 

“ He is coming to see us again in a few 
days,” added the young girl diplomatically. 

“ Well, so much the better,” murmured the 
widow. At the same time she thought: “He 
would not risk a declaration at the first inter- 
view. He is very timid. While taking one 
step forward, he goes backward two. I’ll have 
to take a hand. Without my interference they 
will never do anything decisive.” 


18 


274 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


XVIII. 

Martial was not easily rebuffed, and he re- 
solved, in spite of the unfriendly manner of 
Mme. Eparvier, to find some means of con- 
versing alone with Madeleine. He knew that 
on Saturdays the widow never failed to go to 
the market at Tours, where she staid a portion 
of the afternoon. He chose that day, there- 
fore, to visit Madeleine, and arrived early at 
La Varenne. 

He was not mistaken in his expectations. 
The widow was absent, and* Madeleine was at 
home in charge of the house. Since the be- 
ginning of October the rainy weather had 
forced her to renounce her station under the 
mulberry tree and she kept herself the more 
willingly in a small chamber which she had 
converted into a working room, now that the 
rain made the 'garden untenable. She had 
placed her books there, her chiffonier, her 
work basket and her favorite trifles. Martial’s 


MADELEINE EPARVIEIt. 


275 


jardiniere occupied a prominent place in the 
middle of the mantel-piece and this afternoon, 
after decorating it with chrysanthemums and 
late roses, she felt more disposed to reverie 
than to work. Instead of taking up a book or 
her 'embroidery, she stood in the embrasure of 
the window, her forehead leaning against the 
glass, and in an absent-minded manner watched 
the leaves float spirally down from the trees, 
through the soft, drizzling rain, as she again 
thought of her interview with Armand. 

The transformation which had taken place 
in her, since Debierne’s declaration, became 
more marked every day. Little by little she 
found that life had a new interest, her blood 
ran more lightly in her veins, and she saw 
that she had not renounced all hope. Her 
youth reasserted itself anew, and confused 
aspirations, unacknowledged desires overflowed 
in her heart like the sap of April which oozes 
out at the joints of the branches of the trees. 
About her, mysterious emanations of tender- 
ness seemed to float in the air, like the de- 
tached leaves of the trees, and to slowly seek a 
resting-place. 


276 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


While indulging in this pleasant reverie, a 
servant came to announce that Martial Meti- 
vier wished to see her. On hearing the visit- 
or’s name pronounced precisely at the moment 
when she was thinking of him, she started, 
and stood trembling before the window. 

Martial entered, himself much moved. 
Learning that Madeleine was alone, he had at 
first experienced a great joy and felt himself 
full of resolution; but, once in her presence, 
he grew timid and again hesitated. He had 
already come to La Varenne more than once 
with the firm intention to open his heart to the 
young girl. But at the moment of speaking, 
his eyes would rest upon her sad and preoc- 
cupied face and all his resolutions would van- 
ish before her suffering look. This time in 
truth it seemed to him that her welcome was 
less disconcerting. The hand she held out to 
him had a more friendly clasp and her eyes 
shone with a more encouraging light. Never- 
theless, what he had to say was so grave, he 
was playing so high and risky a game that he 
did not dare to attack the outworks of the ques- 
tion which was the motive of his visit. The 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


277 


first words of both were commonplace re- 
marks about the rainy weather and the bad 
state of the roads. 

“ Sit down and warm yourself,” said Made- 
leine, throwing a fresh armful of wood on the 
fire, “you must be wet to the skin.” 

“ There is a fine, sleeting rain falling-,” re- 
sponded Martial, “but if the weather were 
still more detestable, I should have come just 
the same.” 

She reddened, and, becoming timid in her 
turn, refrained from asking why. She stood 
a moment, stirring the fire. When she raised 
her head she surprised Martial gazing intently 
at the chrysanthemums on the mantel. 

“You see,” she murmured, “I have decor- 
ated your jardiniere. I have admired it for 
five years and it is so handsome that I seem to 
be, admiring it for the first time. I allow no 
one to touch it, because I am so afraid it might 
be injured. Now that you are celebrated, I am 
so proud to possess your first work.” 

“And I am so glad you accepted it. You 
brought me good luck. From the very day I 
offered it to you, I began to succeed. From 


278 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


that day I have felt within myself the power 
to put forth my strongest efforts, and it is the 
memory of your encouragement that has given 
me my best inspirations.” 

“ What you say touches me deeply, for I 
know that you are not given to vain compli- 
ments, and I rejoice that I have been able, 
even in a slight degree, to contribute to your 
success.” 

“You have done it all. I have to thank 
you that I have succeeded, and do you know 
why?” he added, growing bolder and looking 
at her with an irresistible expression of 
tenderness. 

“N — no,” she stammered. She dropped 
her eyes, seized with a soft tremor and an 
embarrassment which, this time, contradicted 
her denial. 

“If I have worked,” he continued in a low 
voice, “ if I have become something else than 
an obscure workman, if I have conquered an 
honorable position, it is because I wished to' 
bring myself nearer to you; it is because I 
have loved you since my childhood, and be- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


279 


cause I was impelled by a desire so audacious 
that I hardly dare to avow it to-day. 

She was listening, with her eyes cast down, 
with beating heart, and an emotion so new, so 
delicious, that she was afraid he would see it 
if she raised her head. 

“My ambition — ” he went on, “you have 
guessed it, perhaps — it is — ” 

He had not time to finish. The door sud- 
denly opened and Mme. Eparvier entered, 
wearing a black straw hat with violet ribbons, 
and at sight of her, Martial, quite dumbfounded, 
paused abruptly. 

The young people had risen. Madeleine 
was very red, and the artist saluted Mme. 
Eparvier awkwardly. 

The latter, noticing their confusion, frowned 
deeply, as she darted a suspicious look at 
them. 

“Well! well!” she cried sharply, “ what is 
the matter, that you should look at me so 
sheepishly ? In alighting from the carriage, I 
heard that M6tivier was in the house, and as I 
wanted to speak with him, I came in without 


280 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


ceremony. I hope I am not discommoding 
you. This rain has almost frozen me. Mad- 
eleine, go to the kitchen and get me a glass of 
hot wine. In the meantime, I have a couple of 
words to say to Martial.” 

At this command Madeleine arose, bowed 
slightly, and went out, not very confident as to 
the consequences of this talk which her mother 
was going to have with the artist. As to the 
widow, she w T ent straight to the fire-place and 
held first one and then the other shoe before 
the blaze, and then half turned her head to the 
young man, and speaking over her shoulder: 

“ My boy,” she began, “ I have always had 
a good opinion of your tact and of your judg- 
ment, and you will do me this justice, that in 
spite of the difference in our social conditions, 
I have always received you kindly. To-day, 
since you have become, it would seem, a man 
of consequence, I am certainly flattered to 
see that you have not forgotten us. But mod- 
eration is good in all things. Do not be 
offended if I am obliged to say that, in the 
point of view of the social proprieties, and in 
Madeleine’s interests, your visits should be a 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


281 


little rarer. My daughter is of age, and now 
that there is talk of her being married — ” 

“Is Mile. Madeleine going to marry?” in- 
terrupted Martial, whose face suddenly became 
a sickly white. 

“Nothing is as yet decided, but negotia- 
tions are pending, and your too frequent 
visits at La Varenne might cause comment. 
I know that would be absurd, yet you are 
young and are being much talked about just 
now, and people are malicious. An unlucky 
story might scare off M. Debierne — for it is 
of him I speak. I can tell you — you who are 
almost of the house.” 

“ M. Debierne has asked mademoiselle your 
daughter in marriage?” 

“Not officially, as yet, but he appears very 
desirous to conclude the matter.” 

“ And does Mile. Madeleine consent?” 

“ Madeleine would be a goose to refuse 
such a match. However, nothing is fixed, and 
it is just for that reason that we can not be 
too prudent and circumspect. When the mar- 
riage has taken place, I shall be happy to 
receive you anew, but until then I engage you 


282 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


to keep yourself in the background. I can 
depend upon your delicacy,” she added, open- 
ing the door of the hall and conducting Meti- 
vier as far as the vestibule. “ You under- 
stand, my boy; good-day, and a close mouth.” 

Martial went away, his heart heavy and his 
head in a whirl. The rain, whipped by the 
wind, stung his face with its icy points, but he 
did not notice it, for the torments which had 
been unchained within him rendered him insen- 
sible to outward sensations. He had suffered 
once before, at the news of the engagement 
between Madeleine and Pierre Lamblin, but on 
that occasion he was not a prey to illusions, 
and his uncertain future forbade his indulging 
in a too chimerical hope. To-day the situation 
was no longer the same. Pierre Lamblin had 
vanished. Mile. Eparvier had forgotten him, 
and a more virile hope filled the artist’s soul. 
By dint of will and labor, he had made himself 
worthy of being loved, and now that he had 
nearly reached his goal, an unforeseen obstacle 
had risen in his path. 

Happily the habit of battling against the 
difficulties of life had endowed him with un- 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


283 


common strength. He soon emerged from the 
despondency into which Mme. Eparvier’s 
insinuations had thrown him. In short, noth- 
ing was to be despaired of since nothing had 
been concluded. Martial knew Madeleine well 
enough to be convinced that she would not let 
herself be dazzled by a fortune. He knew her 
to be sincere and incapable of encouraging an 
aspirant for whom she had no inclination. If 
Debierne had spoken to her, or if she had 
divined his intentions, she loved a candid, un- 
derstanding too well, to have tolerated between 
herself and him, anything equivocal, in case 
there existed no engagement. Martial decided 
to contest for the prize and to possess this heart 
which he could not live without. He felt that 
if Debierne was rejected, he would have a good 
chance of being loved, , and once sure of Mad- 
eleine’s love, he thought he should be strong 
enough to triumph over the objections of Mme. 
Eparvier. Besides, Madeleine was nearly 
twenty-five years old and would be able to 
silence her mother’s disapproval. First of all 
he must acquaint himself of the intentions of 
M. Debierne. 


284 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


Like a man of action tliat he was, Martial 
could not brook uncertainty. He wanted to 
know what was before him and, on the morrow 
of his dismissal by Mme. Eparvier, he rang the 
bell at La Fleurance. Armand Debierne was 
already in his library and when the card of the 
artist was brought to him, he gave orders that 
he be at once admitted. 

Martial entered pale and resolute, and Ar- 
mand, though a little surprised at this early 
visit, greeted him with a cordial grasp of the 
hand. 

“ I am happy, sir,” he said, handing him a 
chair, “ to see you again at La Fleurance, and 
to have the opportunity of felicitating you 
upon your successes.” 

The young man answered by a bow, and 
refusing to be seated: 

“Monsieur Debierne,” he began, in a firm 
though low voice, “ I have taken an unusual 
step in coming to see you, and I beg that you 
will excuse in advance, whatever there is extra- 
ordinary in it. You have in the past shown a 
sympathy for me which I have not forgotten, 
and it is this which has encouraged me to ask 


MADELEINE EPAEVIEE. 


285 


you a question to which I hope you will reply 
frankly.” 

“ Speak, sir,” murmured Debierne more and 
more astonished. 

“It is said that you intend to ask the hand 
of Mile. Eparvier in marriage; is it true?” 

A shade of vexation darkened Debierne’ s 
face and for a moment he maintained an 
amazed silence. 

“ Before I answer,” he s&id, “ permit me to 
ask a question in my turn. What interest 
have you in knowing what may have passed 
between Mile. Eparvier and myself?” 

“An all-powerful interest, I love Mad- 
eleine Eparvier and I have always loved her. 
If I have worked ; if I have become what I am, 
it is because I wished to diminish the distance 
which separated me from her, and to be able 
one day to possess her. I thought she was free. 
At the moment when I was about to declare 
myself, I was told that you were her suitor. I 
desire to know if what I have been told is 
serious, and if Mile. Eparvier is already en- 
gaged. I recognize how strange this inter- 
rogatory may seem to you, but I feel that I 


286 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


must take tliis step before abandoning the single 
dream of my life.” 

Armand looked at the young man atten- 
tively. He noted in the deep black eyes, in his 
accent, at once decided and tremulous, that irre- 
pressible force of truly passionate love, from 
which he himself had suffered and he felt him- 
self touched by a keen sympathy for this virile 
and at the same time tender nature. 

“ My dear artist,” he answered with a mel- 
ancholy smile upon his lips, “ you have just 
put your finger upon a bleeding wound, and the 
response I am about to make would be painful 
if I consulted my amour propre alone. But at 
my age, silence must be imposed upon every 
juvenile vanity. Yes, I did want to marry 
Mile. Eparvier. A few days ago I went to see 
her and I did not conceal from her that I would 
be happy in the gift of her hand. The truth 
obliges me to confess that I suffered a check.” 

u She refused you ? ” 

“ Yes. Her very frank explanations made 
me understand that at fifty past, love is no 
longer in season and that right of way must be 
given for the young. Now you understand.” 


MADELEINE EPAEVIER. 


287 


“ Thanks, Monsieur. Once more, excuse 
me.” 

Martial, much moved, wished and yet dared 
not extend his hand to Debierne. The latter 
seized it, and clasping it affectionately: 

“ Now it is your turn,” he sighed. “ You 
have vigor, warmth of soul, and will ; I envy 
you and wish you good luck.” 

When the young man had gone, Armand 
stood in the window and followed him with his 
eyes. He saw him cross the court with a 
quick and firm step, holding his head high, 
and again he felt a choking sensation in his 
throat. 

“ There goes a man of the new race,” he 
thought, with a sigh full of melancholy. “ He 
walks with the step of those who triumph in 
life. He possesses true youth, made up of 
decision, tenderness and force. It is he whom 
Madeleine will choose, and she will be right.” 


288 


MADELEINE EPARYIER. 


XIX. 

One morning, at the beginning of the month 
of April, 1890, Prosper de La Jugie had gone 
into his garden very early to take a bath in the 
rays of the spring-tide sun. He was joined by 
Armand Debierne, who had just returned from 
a voyage, and who profited by this radiant 
morning to make his first visit to his old 
neighbor and friend. As they talked they 
directed their steps toward an arch not yet 
covered with foliage, whence a view could be 
had of the valley of the Loire. A little lan- 
guid, in the sun, already ardent, they sat 
down under the shelter of a cedar. 

These first days of April, when the weather 
is fine, show off to the best advantage the 
smiling beauty of Touraine. This garden, or 
rather orchard, of France, at that season re- 
joices the senses and the heart by a harmony 
of colors voluptuous and virginal. 

The almond trees had already passed out 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


289 


of bloom, but the peaches were outlined against 
the background of gray earth, in clouds of 
pink, and the vines were already showing their 
swelling buds. Here and there, the pear trees 
and cherry trees spread out their wealth of 
creamy white blossoms. Along the levee the 
willows, clothed in their yellowish green, 
dipped the tips of their branches in the tran- 
quil current of the Loire, whose waters 
reflected the periwinkle blue of the sky. 
Among the clumps of shrubbery the warblers 
repeated to satiety their songs, short and 
sprightly as youth itself. Sweet odors of vio- 
lets rose from the paths, and to perfect this 
symphony of nature’s new birth, the clear 
sound of a distant church bell broke the 
silence. 

“April, the honor of green fields!” de- 
claimed Prosper de La Jugie, whose poetic 
mania was super-excited by this glorious 
morning. “ Earth has put on her nuptial 
robe and the birds are chanting the epitliala- 
mium. What a pity that this fine weather did 
not come a couple of weeks sooner. It would 
have enhanced the happiness of our young 
10 


290 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


married couple marvellously! Unfortunately, 
the sun did not come to the wedding. It was 
like you, my old fellow, it was hidden.” 

“ I was not hidden,” replied Armand, red- 
dening. “ I had simply gone to Italy for two 
months. I thought that by changing the air 
and climate, I might also change my ideas; 
but they accompanied me, and, tired of drag- 
ging them about from place to place, I con- 
cluded to return, and bury them here. Let us 
talk of something else. So your niece is 
married and everything passed off nicely?” 

“Oh! there was a scene at first. My sis- 
ter began by crying, and declaring she would 
never consent to such a mesalliance. To think 
of it, the son of her old farmer! For myself, 
I must confess, I was not enthusiastic, though 
this young M6tivier is decorated and makes a 
great deal of money. If he had only come 
from the other end of France, but in the very 
neighborhood where so many people have seen 
him in blouse and wooden shoes, it was hard. 
But our opposition was in vain. Madeleine 
was firm. The little one has a will of her 
own. She declared up and down that she was 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 291 

of age and intended to marry whom she liked. 
The young man conducted himself very well. 
He came to me and begged me to use my in- 
fluence to overcome the resistance of Mme. 
Eparvier. I made a thorough study of him. 
He is an intelligent fellow, and will not be 
crossed. Would you believe it? he had read 
my verses, and knew some of them by heart. 
Well, he won me over. I told my sister that 
Madeleine would never marry if she missed 
this occasion. I added that Martial would take 
her without dowry, and would not ask for an 
account of her property interests. This last 
consideration had a powerful effect on Mme. 
Eparvier, who, you know, is very close. She 
ended by giving her consent, and our two young 
people were married the week after Easter.” 

“And they have not left Tours?” 

“No, they are passing their honeymoon at 
Saint-Symphorien, where Martial has estab- 
lished his studio and I have hardly seen them 
since. They are enjoying their happiness and 
bill and coo like two doves. In short, Mad- 
eleine has been fortunate and she will never 
repent that she was thrown over by your ward. 


292 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


By the way, I suppose you know he is about to 
marry ? ” 

“ I know nothing about him,” answered De- 
bier ne, bitterly, “ I have ceased all relations 
with him.” 

4 ‘He is to marry the only daughter of a 
banker at Loches, an heiress who will bring 
him a half-million as dowry. The father, it is 
true, has been a general trader and money 
lender and it is said of him, by way of reproach, 
that he used to exact usurious rates of in- 
terest, but he is now one of the electors of the 
arrondissement , and will have his son-in-law 
named deputy. We should never look a gift 
horse in the mouth. Pierre Lamblin has 
prudently broken with Mme. des Yoclines and 
at this moment is in the way to become a great 
man. Ma foi , it is almost enough to make us 
doubt the wisdom of Providence. That fellow 
has not hesitated to commit villanies to satisfy 
his ambitious aims, and everything he does 
succeeds! ” 

Armand Debierne shook his head sadly. 

“ I think you mistake,” he murmured. u I 
am of Shakespeare’s opinion: There is — 


MADELEINE EPAEVIER. 


293 


‘An even-handed justice which 

Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice 

To our own lips — 9 

It is precisely this which makes me fear for 
Pierre and which will trouble the repose of my 
latest years. I cannot forget that I loved him ; 
that he is the son of the woman I adored, and 
that I owe to him the worst of my disillu- 
sions.” 

They were at this point in their conversa- 
tion when the sound of foot-steps, accompanied 
by the panting of a person out of breath, made 
them turn their heads. They perceived M. 
Evariste Rambert coming toward them. The 
good man was scrupulously dressed in mourn- 
ing for his departed wife. One peculiarity had 
been noted in him since the death of Mine. 
Rambert; his attire was better cared for and 
he dressed with more attention to style than 
he had ever been known to do before. Thus 
though it was still morning, he wore a black 
coat cut in the latest fashion; his linen was of 
an immaculate whiteness and his low-cut 
patent leather shoes, gave glimpses of socks 
of black silk. His beard, newly trimmed, made 


294 . 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


a coquettish frame for his rubicund face and 
on each side of his nearly bald forehead the 
sparse hairs were carefully frizzed. 

For the moment, the change in his ordi- 
narily placid features contrasted with this 
toilette. His cheeks were scarlet, and his blue 
eyes were starting from their sockets. 

“ Good morning, neighbor! ” said Prosper. 
“You look like a scared cat. What is the 
matter? ” 

“I am beside myself,” cried M. Rambert 
as soon as he could take breath. “I am exas- 
perated. Oh! those children! You are happy 
in not having any.” 

“First of all sit down,” replied La Jugie 
with a puzzled, and falsely compassionate air, 
“ and explain yourself. What has happened ? ” 

“ Something that passes the imagination,” 
replied Rambert, wiping his hot face. “ You 
know Nancy came to Rochettes last week. We 
had some arrangements to make about the in- 
heritance of my poor wife. Nancy was very 
unreasonable and we parted coldly. But that 
is nothing. Yesterday on visiting her room, 
which she left in disorder, I found a scrap of 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


295 


paper on the floor. I looked at it. It was a 
telegram from lier brother and this is what it 
contained.” At the same time he unfolded a 
bit of blue paper and read in a trembling 
voice: “If the old good-for-nothing refuses 
money, institute suit, Marcel.” 

“The old ‘good-for-nothing,’” M. Rambert 
went on sarcastically “ is myself. As to the 
suit, they have put their threat into execution. 
This very morning I received notice to appear 
before the tribunal at Tours to show cause why 
I should not proceed to the division of the late 
Mme. Rambert’s property. Do not you think 
that ignoble on the part of children for whom 
I have bled? ” 

“It is sufficiently fin-de-sidcle, as your son, 
Marcel, would say,” observed La Jugie, “and 
what do you intend to do about it?” 

“I shall fight it, parbleu! I shall not 
yield to a menace of extortion. Oh! I know 
where the shoe pinches them. They are furious 
because I am going to marry again! ” 

“ You are going to marry again, Rambert! ” 
exclaimed Debierne, almost choked with sur- 
prise. 


296 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


“And why not?” retorted the good man, 
vexed at the astonishment of the other. “ I 
have not the pretention to aspire to the hand 
of a young girl. The person to whom I wish 
to unite myself is a mature woman, though 
still charming. There is no great dispropor- 
tion of age between Mme. des Yoclines and 
myself — ” 

“ It is Mme. des Yoclines! ” replied Prosper, 
ironically. “Ah! you don’t tell me so! Ha! 
ha! You are both young enough to have chil- 
dren yet, and I understand why your son-in-law 
does not like it.” 

“My son-in-law! very good. I could have 
borne it from him; but Nancy, but Marcel, 
the children I adored and spoiled.” 

“Too much!” added Prosper sententiously. 
“ When we spoil children, we prepare rods for 
our own backs. Now that he has a good ap- 
petite, Marcel is not willing to divide the 
paternal cake with the little brothers who may 
come upon the scene later.” 

“Is that his business?” replied M. Ram- 
bert furiously. “Do I mingle in his affairs? 
If I cannot stand solitude, if I have need of a 


MADELEINE EPAPtVIER. 


297 


companion for my fireside, am I not free to 
seek whom I please? Oil! the children of to- 
day ; a race of ingrates, without principle, with- 
out heart and without respect!” 

“ The fact is,” added Prosper, “ that the 
present generation amounts to little. It has 
neither youth, poetry nor disinterestedness. 
Debierne and you, neighbor, have paid for 
finding it out.” 

Debierne remained pensive. 

“ My dear friends, ” he said at last, with a 
sad smile, “ to reason justly in such matters, 
we must, first of all, put off the old man. At 
all periods, the aged have been inclined to laud 
the past to the detriment of the present. In 
proportion as we grow old, we look at the 
events of our own time with presbytic, and 
at the things of to-day with myopic, eyes. 
Already in the time of Augustus, Horace 
treated the young Romans of his day very 
badly. When we were twenty, our fathers 
must have thought of us precisely what we 
think of the young folks who have taken our 
places. The truth is, that generations succeed 


298 


MADELEINE EPARVIER. 


each other and do not change. The dead 
leaves fall and a new foliage replaces them, but 
we do not curse the forest because we find here 
and there some useless or blighted branches. 
We look around us and we see pale and sickly 
children, perverted by too much prosperity, and 
we judge a whole generation to be wrong from 
the bad specimens we have seen. When the 
upper classes are too effete to furnish their 
contingent of enthusiasm, it is the lower 
classes which in their turn produce men of 
action, of faith and of talent. By the side of 
egotists like Pierre Lamblin, or of triflers like 
Marcel, there are brave and earnest workers 
like Martial Metivier, who infuse young blood 
into the social body. Believe me, so long as 
the earth and humanity shall last, there will 
'always be new growths of youth as there will 
always be a sun and springtime.” 

As if to confirm Armand’s words, the fruit- 
trees were spreading their abundant bloom in 
the garden, bathed in the warm sunlight ; the 
blue sky was smiling, and even as old wine 
effervesces in the casks when the vine comes 


MADELEINE EPARVTER. 


299 


into flower, so the warm breath of April 
awakened a remnant of youth in the hearts of 
these three men who had doubled the cape of 
the fifties. 






























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